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VOL. I. 


J3iibli5hcv5 in (Dil)inari) to ^)cr ^1.tjc5tn the Queen. 


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University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 



OWARDS the close of a July 
evening, in the upper room of 
a house, which stood in one 
of London's narrowest thoroughfares, a 
woman sat striving to penetrate the 
tangled perplexities of her future. 

Her hands were idle ; her eyes rested 
on a low chair with a rail back and a 

VOL. I. 1 


patch-work cushion, her mother's chair, in 
which she had been wont to see a 
tender face and frail, bent figure ; but 
now in place of that loved form there rose 
before her a solitary mound of newly- 
turned earth ; and a sense of her utter 
desolation sweeping oyer her, Eve Pascal 
flung herself down in an agony of tears, 
and let the torrent of her grief run 

Then she arose, stretching out her 
arms as if in mute entreaty to some in- 
visible presence, and took a step nearer 
the window, straining her eyes to catch 
sight of the sky, the very light of which 
was obscured and blotted out by the mass 
of chimneys from warehouses and work- 

From the window, Eve let her gaze 
wander round the small room, incon- 


veniently filled with heavy furniture, 
treasured by her mother as bearing tes- 
timony to former thrift and respectable 
belongings, for Mrs. Pascal had come of 
a family who had seen better days, in 
right of which they could never overlook 
that their orphan cousin had thrown 
herself away on a common seafaring 
man who had nothing but his handsome 
face and his dare-devil stories to set before 
her ; and although the despised husband 
never returned from the voyage, during 
which Eve was born, the relations 
saw in this no cause to restrain their 
tongues nor alter their judgment, and the 
sore-hearted widow, resenting these con- 
tinual jobations, gradually withdrew her- 
self from her family, until not only had 
all communication ceased between them, 



but their very existence was no longer 
known to her. 

As Eve's gaze fell successively on a 
tall eight-day clock, with a brass-bound 
chest of drawers on one side, and a corres- 
ponding but more bulky set on the other, 
she gave an audible sigh. 

^You'll try and keep the furniture 
together, Eve ?' her mother had said. 

And Eve had promptly answered, 
^Yes,' in that spirit which then forbade 
her to think of gainsaying the slightest 
request which Mrs. Pascal might make ; 
the same spirit still filled the girl's heart, 
but her mind was troubled, and her 
thoughts oppressed, by the narrow loneli- 
ness of the life which, if she remained 
here, she saw spread out before her. 

Mrs. Pascal had supported herself 
by clear - starching and fine - mending ; 


she had tauL»'ht her daiio'hter enous^h to 
enable her to gain a Uving by the same 
employment, but up to the time of her 
mother's illness, although never refusing 
her assistance, Eve had not taken 
kindly to needlework. No sooner, how- 
ever, did she feel that the responsibility 
of providing for her mother's comfort 
depended on her exertions, than she sat 
down with the most willing alacrity, and 
managed the little business so deftly and 
so well, that a great load was lifted from 
the widow's heart, and she rested assured 
that she might lay aside all anxiety on 
the score of her child's future daily 

But the work which had been a pleasure 
then, had become an irksome labour now ; 
the monotony of the quiet employment 
was unendurable. Death had snapped 


asunder the bondage to which love had 
submitted, and, without any power to 
oppose it, the girl's nature asserted itself 
and refused to continue longer its course 
of uneventful existence. Up to the morn- 
ing of the previous day, these longings and 
yearnings after freedom had been hope- 
less, but an unlooked-for letter had 
changed the whole current of events, 
and had sent her pent-up thoughts and 
wishes hurrying off through a thousand 
new and unexplored channels. 

This letter had come from her uncle, 
her father's half-brother, in ansv/er to a 
letter she had sent announcing her 
mother's death. Eve had written this 
letter in compliance with her mother's 
request — a request made because it had 
seemed, to Mrs. Pascal's mind, a respect 
due to her husband's memory that his 


family should be told of her death, and 
thereby know that there was one the less 
to bear their name. 

Beyond the fact that her husband had a 
brother and some cousins living in an out- 
of-the-way village in Cornwall, Mrs. Pascal 
knew nothing of these relations. She 
had written to them when the news of 
Andrew's death came, telling them that 
she was left with one child, a girl ; and 
had received a reply that if ' she'd come 
down and live among them, they'd do for 
her and the little maid.' Eut the stories 
which her husband had told of his native 
village, and the life lived there, had 
filled the town-bred wife with horror; 
and, though she thanked them for their 
kind offer, she felt she would sooner 
bes: her bread in London than live at 
ease with those, who, to use her hus- 


band's words, ' feared neither God nor 

Since this letter, no further communica- 
tion had passed between them ; and when 
Eve had written her sad announce- 
ment, it was with a strono; feehnof that 
in all probability this uncle was long 
ago dead, and that (only she had given 
her mother the promise) she might well 
spare herself the trouble of sending the 

A fortnight passed by, and now an 
answer had come, couched in very much the 
same words, and containing an offer very 
similar to that which, some twenty years 
before, Mrs. Pascal had refused : namely^ 
that if Eve would come and see them, 
they would make her welcome for as long 
as she liked to stay. 

As Eve read this letter, her face 


flushed with excitement ; for a time the 
burden of her grief was lifted oft* her heart, 
and her quick imagination carried her at 
once to the far-off* village where * the 
houses were washed by the waves, the 
rocks rose high as mountains, and you 
could stand at your door and see the great 
ships sail by.' 

Eve's pulse quickened at the picture, 
for she was a sailor's child, and her in- 
heritance was the love that is born in the 
hearts of those Avhose fathers, and their 
fathers before them, have gone down to 
the sea in ships, and seen the wonders of 
the deep. 

Mrs. Pascal's recollections of the stories 
her husband had told, had been unwittingly 
kept alive by the interest his daughter took 
in them. The storms, the wrecks, the tales of 
hair-breadth escapes, and of drowned men^ 


which made the mother's heart beat with 
fear, filled Eve with excitement, and 
wonder that her father should have left 
that life for such dull security as they 

It never occurred to her to propose that 
her mother should leave London ; such a 
thing would have seemed not only im- 
probable, but impossible. In those days, 
unless some great event befell them, 
people lived and died where they 
were born ; necessity was the only re- 
cognised obligation for leaving one place 
to go to another, and any desire to roam 
was looked upon as the offs]oring of an 
ill-regulated disposition. Therefore it was 
only at such moments as these that 
Eve gave expression to the wish which 
leavened her inmost thoughts, and coloured 
with romance her idle dreams — to go out 


into the world, to see people she had never 
seen before, to live some life other than 
the daily routine of dull respectability, to 
have jo3^s and sorrows springing out of 
unforeseen accidents and stransre emer- 


gencies, to be the centre of hopes and 
fears. These and a hundred more ex- 
travagant longings had lain smouldering 
in Eve's breast, to be set ablaze by 
this letter, which seemed to open out the 
way leading to the new existence after 
which she so greedily thirsted. There was 
but one drawback, and that was the know- 
ledge that, in accepting her uncle's offer, 
she would be acting in direct opposition 
to her mother's wishes — not her expressed 
wishes — for the possibility of such an offer 
had never occurred to Mrs. Pascal's mind ; 
although, had it done so, she would have 
felt perfectly secure that Eve would 


never entertain the thoug^ht of leavinsf the 
place where she had been brought up and 
had friends, to live dependent upon rela- 
tions whose ways were more in keeping 
with the godless heathens than the re- 
pec'table people of a Christian countr}^. 

But Eve well knew that, if her 
mother w^ere alive, she would never have 
ventured to propose the step she now 
contemplated, and this fact alone was 
weighty enough to set the balance 
trembling between this and her future 

^ What could I do with, the furniture X 
she said, with a despondent movement of 
her hands. 

' Perhaps Keuben w^ould take care of 
it,' suggested that temporising spirit 
always at hand when battle wages between 
duty and inclination. ' You need only 


go for a time,' insinuated the tempter ; 
' and the room behind his shop is always 

Eve frowned ; she admitted the 
suggestion, but dishked the expedient, 
feehno^ she had no riHit to ask a favour 
from a man who needed but encourage- 
ment to ask, on his part, a boon which she 
could never grant. But the tare of desire 
Avas already springing up, choking the re- 
solutions she had so recently made ; aiid 
before another hour passed by, Eve 
was resolved to write and tell her uncle 
that she accepted his offer, for a time at 
least, and that she would start for Polperro 
as soon as she had safely housed, with a 
friend, the furniture which her mother 
had bidden her keep. Then she took out 
her hat, and prepared to get ready to go on 
an errand which would take her through 


the street, at the far end of which was a 
small shop, bearing over ifc the name 
of ^Eeuben May, Watch and Clock- 


I HE owner of this shop, Keuben 
May, was a young man rather 
below the middle size, with a 
thin, spare figure and an earnest, thought- 
ful face ; his complexion w^as sallow, and 
his features by no means good, except his 
forehead which was broad and well shaped, 
and his eyes which were bright and pene- 

From boyhood Reuben had shown a 
sober, studious disposition, and to this, as 


he grew older, he added an independence 
of thought and opinion which attracted 
him towards the then fast-increasing body 
of Methodists. It was through this 
common bond of reUgious opinion that 
Beuben's acquaintance with Mrs. Pascal 
had been brought about. They had fallen 
into speaking and hand-shaking through 
sittincr near to each other in the little 
chapel which both frequented ; this had 
led to walking home together, discussing 
the sermon and the minister, until, from 
a certain sympathy of thought and opinion, 
a feeling of friendship sprung up between 
them, and Mrs. Pascal, seeing that the 
young fellow had no relations and few, if 
any, friends, had invited him to come to 
her house, an invitation which Keuben 
readily accepted, and had so completely 
benefited by that at the time of her death, 


next to her daughter, the chief mourner at 
the widow's humble grave had been 
Reuben M?ty. 

When, from necessity. Eve was 
obhged to carry home her work, Keuben 
would often take her jDlace by the sick 
woman's bed, and at such times open his 
heart with a frankness he had never before 
shown ; tell her of his aspirations, his 
failinofs, and his weaknesses, the stronofest 
of which he confessed, with some shame- 
facedness, to be an overpowering love for 
her daughter Eve, which, in spite of 
scanty encouragement and small hope of 
return, he found himself unable to over- 

Poor Mrs. Pascal ! it was no slio-ht 
task to withhold herself from giving some 
small encourao^ement to the furtherance of 
a union, the accomplishment of which had 

VOL. I. L, 2 


been one of the fondest desires of her heart. 
For months her eyes had never fallen on 
these two Avithout the wish coming that 
their lives might be united in marriage ; 
but the nearer she approached that time 
when all earthly interests must be given 
up, the firmer grew her conviction that this 
wish of her heart had best be abandoned. 
Feeling sore at the disappointment, she 
had on almost the last occasion of these 
confidences told Reuben, that many a 
time she had had it in her mind to chide 
him for not having more cunning in 
his speech to Eve ; and Reuben 
had regretfully acknowledged the too 
frequent sharpness of a tongue very 
prone to give oflfence, for, unluckily for the 
success of Reuben's suit, his love had eyes, 
and his religion was in that stage when 
zeal is apt to run ahead of discretion. 


Did but the suspicion of a shadow come 
into her mother's face, and Eve's quick 
retort or stinging repartee was swallowed 
down and repented of; but she desired 
that her words should be as thorns and 
nettles to Reuben's outspoken censures and 
rebukes ; and if she could but discover she 
was causing a smart, fresh fuel was added 
to the fire of her tongue. And yet, know- 
ing this, seeing her motive, and wincing 
under her utter disregard of his annoyance. 
Eve was dearer to him than all the 
world ; his heart craved after her love, and 
lay as a stone within him in presence of 
any other woman. 

As he sat on this June evening close up 
to the small window, apparently engrossed 
in repairing the cog-wheel of the watch he 
held in his hand, any one might have 
said, there was a man very far re- 



moved from the rose-tinted region of 
romance. Yet the God-sent gift of love 
had been lodged within his breast, and was 
spreading its halo over all he saw and did. 

Mechanically he turned over his tools 
and found the one best suited to his work ; 
but even while he did so, he was looking 
on a vision in which his heart was no 
longer solitary, neither was his lot lonely. 
Hand in hand he and his elect walked 
through life, and lo ! earth with its toil- 
some roads and cloudy skies became para- 
dise ; and as he still dreamed on, a voice 
close by awakened him, and, looking up, 
the Eve of this Eden stood before 

' Why, Reuben, you seemed scared,' she 
said, smiling at the dazed look on the 
young man's face. 

' And no wonder,' he replied, quickly re~ 


covering himself, ' for I do believe this is 
the first time you've ever put foot inside 
my place !' 

' I wanted to have a little talk with 
you/ said Eve, ignoring the slight re- 
proach which Keuben's words were meant 
to convey ; ^ and I thought, as I had to 
go out, I'd come round by here and ask 
you if you'd much to do this evening ?' 

* Nothing that'll hinder anything you 
may want of me,' returned Heuben, 
promptly ; ^ the light's all but gone, and, 
anyway, I should have been thinking of 
shutting up in the course of a half 
hour or so. Could you step inside for the 
value of ten minutes ?' he asked, lifting up 
the portion of the counter which covered 
the entrance partition. 

To his surprise Eve stepped through, 
and, Keuben having cleared a chair, she 


seated herself, while he returned to what 
was, after this, but a mere pretence of 
finishing his work. 

* You've a nice-sized room here/ observed 
Eve, taking a critical survey of the 

' Fairish/ said Reuben, endeavouring to 
keep under the thumping of his heart, 
which rendered ordinary conversation 
somewhat trying. 

' It would take plenty more than you've 
got in it now 1' continued Eve, inter- 

* Oh yes ! no doubt but it would hold a 
thing or two more,' said Reuben, very 
fierce with himself for being put out of 
countenance by this slim young thing, who 
could look at him and his belongings with 
the most enviable composure. 

He would not allow himself to be 

ADAM AND EVE. '2.'^ 

mastered ; it was against all reason that he, 
Keuben May, who could hold his own, ah ! 
and better than his own, with most men he 
knew, should be set trembling like an 
aspen leaf because of a pale face and a pair 
of grey eyes ; the thing was ridiculous, 
and, to prove it, he took up one tool after 
another, examining them critically, and 
whistling the w^hile with an air of the most 
abstracted unconcern. 

An expression of vexation^ then of dis- 
appointment, 2^^s^Gcl over Eve's face ; 
that was not the way men took love. 
Surely Reuben could not care for her so 
much as she had counted upon, or he 
would never sit whistling there, and she 
close by. 

Although not favourably disposed to- 
wards the lover, Eve coveted the love ; 
she wanted to see some one racked with 


torture, driven to despair, called into life 
by a smile, and killed by a frown. This 
was love read by the index of her own 
passionate nature, for Eve had nothing 
else to teach her ; she knew no ex- 
perience, no books to tell her how many a 
strange disguise the blind god walks under. 
As she felt, Reuben ought to feel, that is, 
if he loved her ; and if not, then came the 
temptation to make him, and this impulse 
made her throw a touch of sadness into her 
voice as she said : 

' In spite of what you say, Reuben, I 
see that you are busy to-night, and I 
mustn't expect that you are going to give 
up your time to me whenever I may want 
any little thing of you ; but, you see, I 
haven't got anybody, as it were, to go to — 
not now.' 

But before the ^^now' came trembling 


out, Reuben had recklessly swept away all 
his tools, had jumped up, pushed back his 
chair, and was making a dash towards the 
outer place where he kept the shutters. 

* I won't be a minute, Eve,' he said. 
* I haven't got nothing to do, indeed I 
haven't ; and then I shall be ready to go 
anywhere, wherever 3^ou like, with you. I 
ain't busy a bit ; I wasn't doing anything ; 
I was only thinking — of — something.' 

Eve gave a reassured smile, and 
then, seeing he was pausing to know her 
•wishes, she said : 

* I do want to have a talk with you, and 
I thought, if you wouldn't mind it, we 
might go to Holloway, and then I could 
speak to you as w^e went along.' 

Reuben gave a ready acquiescence, and 
only detaining Eve while he smartened- 
np his appearance in keeping with the 


honour of the occasion, they started off for 
St. Mark's churchyard, in a corner of 
which was Mrs. Pascal's humble grave. 
Engrossed by the separate interests which 
filled their minds, 'they had gone a con- 
siderable distance without a word beinof 
exchanged between them. Suddenly 
Reuben awoke to this fact, and, doubtful 
how his companion might be affected by 
it, he cast a somewhat disturbed glance in 
her direction ; but, instead of displeasure, 
he was reassured with a smile, which 
accepting as a good omen, he resolved to 
turn to immediate account, and at once 
made a desperate plunge by saying : 

* Love's a queer sort of a thing, Eve, 
isn't it r 

' Queer '?' she said, with a surprised 
look ; ' how queer, Reuben X 

' Why, in its ways it is. It comes to 


you whether you will or not, and it settles 
on the one it makes choice of, no matter 
what you have to say for or against it.' 

* Oh, I don't think that would ever be 
your case ;' and Eve pursed up her 
lips and gave a decided shake of her 
head. ' You always tell me that every 
right-minded person acts from principle, 
and has no doubt about choosing right 
from wrong ; and of course you speak from 

Keuben tried to Waive the thrust by 
saying : 

* That's a very good rule, but, you know, 
every rule has an exception ;' and he 
gave a sigh, as he looked towards her, 
which seemed to say the exception in his 
case had come now. ^ Only you just look 
here, now,' he said, after a few minutes 
spent in silent debate as to the best mode 


of entering upon the difficulties of his 
subject; ^supposing I was to set you to 
pick out among all the young women you 
see — say at chapel, then — the one you 
thought was best fitted to be my wife, 
what's the sort of one you'd fix upon, eh ? 
Come, give me your idea of the right sort 
of woman for me to take !' 

' Oh, I know exactly/ returned Eve 
promptly, conjuring up a vision of a cer- 
tain Tamson Walters, whose propriety and 
decorum had often been held up to her as 
a model which she might fitly follow. 
^ She ought to be short and square, with 
a little fat face, and light-blue eyes, and 
her mouth ought to be buttoned-up so, and 
her nose turned up like that.' 

' Come, never mind her looks/ laughed 
Heuben, forced into recognising the in- 
tended caricature. ' When a man's got 


matrimony in his eye, he mustn't only 
look skin-deep ; if he does, he deserves the 
doll he's sure to get.' 

^ Oh, but wait, I'm going on to the rest/ 
for Eve was anxious to do justice to 
her rival's peculiarities. ' Only you must 
let me draw her my own way, you know. 
I'm always obliged to describe the outside 
as well as the inside of a person I want 
other peoj)le to see. Of course she must 
have experienced conversion, and so be 
able to rebuke those whose hearts are still 
d'velling in sin, which is certain to be the 
case if they don't push back all their hair, 
and hide it, like she does, under a hideous 
net cap with no border.' 

Reuben gave a reproving shake of his 

* Come, that'll do/ he said ; ' I know 
who you're pointing to, and all I say is, I 


wish all women were made out of such 
good stuff as Tamsoii Walters is. The 
man who calls her wife, I shall call a lucky 

^ Then w4iy don't you let that man 
be yourself?' said Eve. ' I'm sure, if 
you ask her, she couldn't say less than 
^' Verily I will " to her dear brother 

And the manner of her mimicry, as she 
folded her hands and let drop her eyes, was 
so bewitching, that all the reproof Reuben 
had ready to say died on his lips ; and 
looking at her with eyes which told his 
tale far more eloquently than words, he 
said : 

^ But suppose I don't want her to say 
^' yes." Suppose I'm foolish enough to 
set my heart on somebody who can tease 
me into a rage one minute^ and set me in a 


good temper the next — who one hour I 
say I never want to see any more, and the 
next I'm counting the minutes that'll bring 
the time when we'll meet ao-ain — who 
worries and torments me so, that do what 
I can, I can't get her out of my head by 
night nor day — who's got more faults 
than anybody I ever knew, and yet if I 
was asked how I'd have her altered, I 
could not tell you, for the life of me. Ah, 
Eve, you may well laugh !' he ex- 
claimed, reflectinof the smile which had 
overspread her face ; ' for if I was to talk 
from now to next week, I could never 
make you know the great fool you've 
made and are still making of me.' 

^ I V the smile turned into an expression 
of the most bewildered astonishment ; 
' why, what have I got to do with it, 
E-euben V 


' What have you got to do with it ? 
as if you didn't know all the time I was 
talking about you — that's just one of your 
teasing ways; why, the minute I began 
you knew what was sticking in my throat 
and wouldn't come out. You've known 
for twelve months and more what I've 
been wanting to say, only that I saw the 
foolishness of it ; and, as far as that goes, 
I see it still, but I can't get over it. Oh, 
Eve ! you're as the very apple of my 
eye !' he said, with increasing earnestness. 
' Sometimes I think it must be the allure- 
ments of the devil, and then I'm for putting 
it down to the workings of the Almighty ; 
anyway, all I know is, I can't battle 
against it any longer — it's mastered me 
altogether ; and though I promised your 
mother I'd act by you like a brother, and 
put aside all the rest, I can't do it, 


Eve, that I can't. Unless you'll pro- 
mise to settle down into trying to make 
up your mind to marry me, I must go 
away far off from here to some place 
where I shan't see nor hear of you 

Eve's heart leaped up in triumph. He 
did love her then, and in spite of him- 
self, too. This man, who was always 
teaching and reproving, and trying to be 
her master, was after all her slave. For 
a moment every other feeling was swal- 
lowed up in victory — but oidy for a 
moment — for pity was already near, and 
in another instant was clamourinsf so loud 
that Eve had to ask its name before she 
could assure herself the voice she heard 
was not the subtle voice of love. 

' Oil, Reuben !' she said, ' why didn't 
you tell me all this before ?' 

VOL. I. 3 


^ I thought you knew it,' he said. 

' No, I didn't quite know it. I used to 
think sometimes that you cared a Httle ; 
and then something would come and I'd 
think you didn't. Of course I saw you 
liked to talk to me and that — but I 
didn't know that what you felt was real 
love !' 

^ Keal love ?' he echoed. ' What do 
women know about real love ? A little 
dribbling fondness for somebody who can 
make them pretty speeches, that's all they 
feel. While I — I've wrestled with love 
as 'twere a oiaiit, and the o^iant has 
thrown me so that I lie on the ground 
helplesS;, and whether 'tis best to hope for 
life or death from ^^ou, God knows — I 
don't !' 

And he stood for a few moments all but 
mastered by his emotion. A little sigh 


escaped Eve, and the sound seemed to 
arouse Keuben, and bring him back to 
the present. 

* Mine's a queer kind of courting, 
Eve,' he said, looking up and meeting 
her troubled face. ' 1 know I ain't saying 
a bib what I ought to, to you, but for all 
that I've got it in my heart to try to make 
you comfortable ; and you should have all 
I could give you, and not more to do than 
you'd a mind to do. As far as I could 
make it, your life should go easy with you, 

' Easy with me ?' she cried contemp- 
tuously ; ' as if I cared for sitting still all 
my life— doing nothing, seeing nothing, 
beincr nothinof I' 

* It ain't a bad sort of life though. Eve. 
I don't see that a woman wants much 



' Oh, don't you ! But there, it's no good 
you and me beginning to argue, Reubei) ; 
or I should say I don't see how a man 
can want so Httle as to sit indoors all day 
over the mending of a few clocks and 
watches. Oh, if I'd been a man, do you 
think I'd have been contented to be nothing 
more than a clockmaker ?' 

' Who says I'm contented to be nothing 
but a clockmaker ?' said Heuben, quickly. 
^ 'Tisn't because I'm not one of your blood- 
thirsty chaps w^ith a nose for powder and 
an eye always cocked for seeing daylight 
through my fellow-creatures, that I'm con- 
tented to sit quiet by and see the world go 
round me. I often believe that if it wasn't 
for you, Eve, I should have turned my 
mind on something else long before this.' 

' Do you ? she said, with surprise. 
' Why, what else could you do, Eeuben ?' 


* What else could I do V he repeated. 
* Well, a good many things that I don't 
think small of, though I don't suppose any 
would make me cut a much better figure 
in jour eyes.' 

For a minute Eve did not answer, then, 
she said : 

' I've been thinkino: whether I couldn't 
be of some use to somebody. I've heard 
dear mother tell of women who have 
worked wonders, and done good among 
people who wouldn't hear a word from a 

* Ah, they were women of your mother's 
sorb, though,' said Heuben, seizing on this 
opportunity for retaliation. ' You ain't a 
bit like her in any way.' 

' Of course, I know I'm not half so 
good,' said Eve, not over-pleased with this 
candour, ' nor never shall be.' 


' Never !' said Reuben, decisively. ' So 
it wouldn't be of any use your trying any- 
thing of that sort. You might be seeming 
to convert a man so long as he liad some 
hopes of marrying you, but,' he added, 
' take my word for it, it wouldn't last 
longer than that.' 

' Oh, I know you've a very poor opinion 
of what women can do.' said Eve. 

* No, I haven't,' replied Reuben ; ' that 
is, so long as they do well what they were 
ordained for — sitting in their own houses. 
mending the clothes, and tending the 

And he gave a little inward chuckle over 
the nettle he was proving himself to 

For a moment Eve was bent on find- 
ing an equally smart retort, but a sud- 
den thouofht told her that she held a 


sharper weapon to pierce Reuben with, 
than the mere bandying of words could be. 
So, affecting her most placid smile, she 
said blandly : 

* Thank you, Reuben, for showing me 
the life your wife will have to lead. I'm 
much obliged for the offer, but you'll ex- 
cuse me saying that the situation wouldn't 
suit me.' 

' Oh, very well,' said Reuben, trying to 
smother his love, in his vexation with him- 
self and his anger against her ; ' then my 
course is chalked out for me very clear. 
Off I go — the farther away the better — to 
some place where I can't ever see or hear 
of you again.' 

And as he jerked out the words, he 
involuntarily turned to see how such an 
appaUing announcement was affecting her. 
Not very much, apparently, for the smile 


had become more triumphant, as, seizing 
the opportunity, she pointed her sharpest 
arrow by saying : 

' Please don't do anything rash on my 
account, particularly as there's no need for 
it, for the thing I had to tell you was that 
I'm going away myself. My uncle in 
Cornwall has written up for me to go 
down there and Hve with him among my 
father's people.' 

* But you won't go ?' exclaimed Reuben, 
forgetting all his own lately-vaunted re- 

' Why shouldn't I go V said Eve. ' IVe 
nothing nor nobody to keep me where 
I am.' 

'But/ said Reuben, ' haven't you heard 
your mother speak of them as a wild 
rough lot who she shuddered to think of ? 
Nonsense, Eve, what would a girl like 


you do amongst such a set as you'd find 
there V 

* Do ? A great deal of good, perhaps ; 
and if not/ she added, seeing the look 
^vhich came into Reuben's face, ' what 
harm could they do me V 

' What harm could they do you V he 
repeated slo^yly. ' Why, Eve, surely you 
know that next to doing bad deeds your- 
self, comes the lending countenance to 
them who do .them. As I heard Howell 
Harris say, '^ As w^ell eat the devil, as the 
broth he's boiled in." ' 

* I've only promised to go down and 
see them,' said Eve, somewhat disturbed 
by Reuben's plain speaking. ' I needn't 
stay more than a year, unless I like. 
Come,' she continued, seeking reassurance, 
^ there can't much harm happen in a year, 
Heuben V 


*More than you think,' he repHed 

Then, after standing for a minute silent, 
he burst out with : 

' A whole year 1 — never to see you — 
speak to you — know where you are, or 
what you're turning to ? — oh ! it's cruel — 
cruel ! Why should Providence deal so 
hard with me ? What have I ever done 
that all my heart should be set like 
this upon one who doesn't care a brass 
button for its love or its hate V 

The tone of these words, and the look of 
anguish E-euben's face wore as he spoke 
them, touched Eve's, and she said : 

* Oh, Reuben, don't say that ; it isn't 
kind — after all you've done for me, too. I 
do care for you very much, but how was 
I to know what you felt ? Why didn't 
you speak to me like this before ? Then, 


I don't know, it might have been different ; 
but instead of that you've always spoken 
to me so off-hand-Hke, that I thought you 
fancied love was a thing to be ashamed 

^ Well, and so my love did make me 
ashamed,' returned Keubcn, fiercely ; ' and 
well it might, when I saw it was only 
made a lauo-hinir-stock and a ieer of. 
Why, haven't I seen you turn up your 
nose if by chance I so much as mentioned 
the word love ?' 

The colour came up into Eves face, 
and, with a little confusion, she answered : 

' Indeed, Reuben, if I seemed to do that, 
'twas only pretending, and for fear you 
should guess some of the silly thoughts 
I have in my head when I sit romancing.' 

* Oh, hang romancing !' exclaimed Keuben, 
pettishly ; ^ it's death and destruction to 


truth and commonplace sober reality. 
Life's too short, and time's too precious^ to 
be spent in picturing up a pack of beaux 
and dandies that ' 

' Oh, you don't understand me, Reuben,' 
said Eve, hopelessly. 

^No, nor I never shall while you're up 
there in the clouds ; though sometimes I 
think ' — and he turned on her face a look 
saddened, yet full of admiration — ' that 
it's the most fitting place for such an angel 
as you seem to me.' 

'Who's romancing now, I should like 
to know ?' exclaimed Eve, her vanity 
touched by Reuben's rarely acknowledged 
tribute to her good looks. 

' Why me, of course ! Oh, you've but 
to pull the right string, and your puppet 
will dance to whatever tune you choose to 
play. Though, so far as romance goes, 


'tis an old ehiiin of mine, and until think- 
ing of you drove out all chance of thinking 
of anything else from my precious head, 
has helped me to get through many a dull 

Eve gave a little smile of amused 
content ; she had never before so much 
enjoyed a walk with Keuben. Her tickled 
vanity set her pit}^ in motion, and she 
began to feel so much compassion that it 
made her quite sorry to think she was 
going away from him. It seemed, too, so 
hard to crush all this despair — to take 
away from him all plea for suffering any 

What could she do to adjust matters to 
a better balance ? Aslc him to wait ? Tell 
him she would give him his answer at the 
end of the year when she came back % 
Acting on this suggestion, Eve spoke at 


once, fearing, if slie hesitated, that the 
whisper of a conscience which disapproved 
this action would make itself heard, and 
she should be forced into being honest, 
and obliged to give Keuben now his final 
' No/ 

Therefore it happened that when they 
parted that evening, an understanding had 
been entered into between them, that, 
though there was no engagement on either 
part, each was bound, in case of change, 
to render an account of his or her feelings 
to the other. 


OW, under ordinary circumstances, 
and once secure that he pos- 
sessed her love, Reuben would 
have willingly served his seven years for 
Eve, feeling a certain satisfaction that there 
was to be a f)ei'iod of probation, during 
which time he should be able to regain 
that mastery over himself which this pre- 
sent all-absorbing state of love seemed to 
have completely wrested from his grasp. 
Reuben prided himself on his calm un- 


emotional temperament, and it chafed him 
not a little to find his natm^e subverted and 
his volition destroyed because of a fair face 
whose smile or frown made his joy or sor- 
row. His reason yet remained sufficiently 
independent, and often in his calmer 
moments the conviction was still forced 
upon him that, seeing how widely Eve's 
principles and opinions differed from his 
own, his sensibility ought to have con- 
tinued subservient to his judgment, and, 
until he had convinced her that her way 
of viewing things was false, and her 
arguments unsound, he ought never to 
have urged her to become the partner of 
his home. 

Disputation was Reuben's forte, and it 
was a matter of great wonderment to many 
why he did not give up his business, which 
was not over successful, and adopt the voca- 


tion of a lay preacher, for which he seemed 
so evidently suited. 

Reuben often dwelt upon this possibility 
himself, and ^^'as somewhat surprised that 
he should feel so lukewarm towards a call- 
ing, which in others had for him many 
attractions ; but the secret of his indif- 
ference, perhaps, lay in this fact, that for 
him to be a preacher seemed an easy 
matter, a thing at hand to be taken up any 
day, while the business by which he earned 
his daily bread had not, so fiir, proved a 
happy choice. If he gave it up. Fate, 
Providence, or whatever name we give to 
the power which orders the everyday events 
of our life, would have proved too strong for 
him, and he would have to confess himself 
defeated, and defeat of any kind was most 
unpalatable to Reuben May ; indeed, so far 
as his personal concerns went, it was a word 

VOL. I. 4 


to which he would give no meaning ; he had 
no tolerance for failure, and no pity for those 
who failed. Why should people fail ? he 
had never failed, and nobody had ever 
helped him. Both his parents had died 
when he was a boy, leaving him to shift 
for himself, and so good a shift had he 
made that, since that time, he had, unaided 
and alone, supported himself, taught him- 
self, apprenticed himself, and had finally, 
by his own exertions, scraped together the 
small sum needed to open his little shop 

His argument was, that what others had 
done he could do, and what he had done 
others could do ; a reasoning which out- 
steps vanity to fix its standard on self- 

The magnet which attracted and drew 
together the sympathies of Reuben and 


Eve was, that within the nature of eacli 
lay a vein of enthusiasm and aspira- 
tion which carried them beyond the daily 
round of their everyday lives. Both had 
strong* wills, fervid temperaments, and 
vivid imaginations, more or less warped 
by the cramping influence from which 
they suffered, in being constantly sur- 
rounded by a narrow sphere of persons^ 
who looked on all that lay beyond the 
grasp of their own stunted reasons as 
something reprehensible and not respect- 

Even Mrs. Pascal, good, worthy woman 
as she was, had not entirely escaped this, 
bias ; and when, at times. Eve would 
open wide her heart and sj)eak from out 
its fulness, the mother would be troubled 
at her child's strange fancies, and would 
cast about to find where the mistake lay 



in her bringing up, that she had turned 
out so widely different from those models 
after whom she would fain have fashioned 
her speech and her thoughts, as she had to 
her utmost done her cap and her gown. 

Heuben, too, knowing that he had never 
been able to get up the slightest interest 
in those demure virgins from amid whose 
ranks his choice should necessarily have 
fallen, revenged himself by chiming in 
with Mrs. Pascal, praising their sedate 
appearance and demure behaviour, and 
ignoring the fact that in external propriety, 
at least, Eve differed but very little 
from the rest of the young women among 
whom, at chapel or meeting, she was 

Mrs. Pascal's naturally shy, retiring 
disposition had been against her making 
many friends ; and as — though a constant 


attendant at the chapel — she had never 
summoned up enough resolution to become 
a member until her illness, though known 
to all the congregation by sight, and suffi- 
ciently intimate with most of chem to ex- 
change hand-shakings, but very few had 
ever seen her in her own home. 

As soon, however, as it became known 
that she was dangerously ill, she was the 
object of constant and unremitting atten- 
tions, and scarce a day passed without a 
visit from one or other of her friends. 

But the conversation which soothed and 
calmed the weary spirit of the sick woman 
was torture to poor Eve ; the hope raised 
of that bright world unseen fell like a 
funeral knell upon her ears ; the glories 
of that land beyond the grave, to which 
her mother now was hastening, she would 
not listen to, because her eyes were fixed 


upon the grave itself, and the great deso- 
lation she saw there blotted all else beyond 
from out her view. 

Looking from the level of declining 
middle age, good, worthy people, as these 
were, no longer see the whirlwinds which 
scatter and destroy youth's golden sands ; 
their blood grown torpid, their affections 
lukewarm, they fail to recognise the 
throes which usher in the birth of calm 

When Eve, in the strength of her 
passionate love, wrestled with the dread 
enemy whose shadow already rested on 
her mother's face, they called it presump- 
tion ; and when, seeing his visible pre- 
sence draw near, the girl, in the helpless 
agony of mute despair, threw up her arms 
to — if but for an instant — avert the fatal 
dart, the action was denounced as an im- 


plied defiance of Almighty Will. Mis- 
applied rebukes, untimely reasoning, and 
comfortless platitudes were showered on 
her to no purpose : ' Leave me alone, only 
leave me alone 1' she would moan to those 
who had left their work or their pleasure 
for the sole purpose of carrying out the 
good that in their hearts they constantly 
desired to do. It was neither their fault 
nor hers that they could not understand 
her, and she could not tolerate them ; yet 
the breach produced scandal on one side, 
and vexation and disquietude . on both. 

It was during this time that the chord 
between Reuben and Eve had first truly 
vibrated ; Houben's sympathy was as dumb 
as Eve's sorrow, and because he sat 
silently by, neither attempting to con- 
sole her anguish nor curb its outbreak, his 
was the only presence she could tolerate 


But this preference shown, and shown for 
a man too, was but a further aggrava- 
tion of Eve's ah^eady numerous offences. 
Neither did Reuben May, although a 
favourite, altogether escape his share of 
censure ; but though Reuben was pretty 
certain of the animadversions he was 
bringing down upon himself, they in no 
way influenced his conduct, for, added to 
the attraction which Eve possessed for 
him, the affection in which he had held 
Mrs. Pascal had been all but filial, and in 
itself had promjDted him to watch over 
each trifling detail of the humble funeral^ 
which Eve had entrusted to his care ; 
and when the poor girl found strength 
to thank him for his solicitude, find- 
ing some comfort in the thought that 
all was carried out as her mother would 
have desired. Reuben was doubly repaid 


for the trouble he had taken, and the small 
hoard of savings which, on his own part^ 
lie had expended. 

A novice in the ways of love, Keuben 
did not know^ that one of the surest tests 
of the strength of his lay in the fact, that 
never at any former moment, when her 
beauty had been most radiant and her 
spirits most brilliant, had Eve seemed half 
so dear to his heart as she was during 
those dark days of sorrow when, with 
swollen eyes and tear-stained face, she sat 
unmindful of his presence, hardly heeding 
when he came or when he went. He forgot 
then all the vanity for which he used to 
chide her, all the inconsistencies for which 
he had been wont to condemn her ; he only 
felt that if she would remain helpless all 
her days so that he might Avait upon her 
and work for her, he asked no better lot, 


and a hope that she might give him the 
right to do this began to be strengthened 
as he saw that he was the one person to 
whom she tmmed. When she felt that 
support was needed, she clung to Keuben 
for it. When the time came that she 
thirsted for consolation, it was at his hand 
she sought it. She listened to his counsel 
and acted on his advice, trusting every- 
thing to his guidance, until — the elasticity 
natural to youth gradually asserting itself 
■ — she began to feebly struggle back to the 
every-day life of the present and the 
feverish hopes for the future. 

Mrs. Pascal had been dead nearly six 
months now, and though the abiding loss 
of her mother was as fresh and green to 
Eve as when she first saw her, yet, during 
the weeks which had elapsed since her 
visit to Reuben May, she had regained a 


considerable portion of her health and her 

Her visit to Polpcrro was now a settled 
fact, and Eeuben had agreed to house 
her furniture until she came back to 
claim it. 

This past time, with its interchange of 
letters, its suspense, its anxieties, had 
been one of great excitement to Eve, and 
surely its outpour of sweets and bitters, at 
one time set suddenly flowing, at another 
as suddenly checked, had well-nigh dis- 
tracted Reuben May. 

But now all was settled, every arrange- 
ment made, and nothing more remained to 
be done but to sit idly down and wait for 
the hour of departure. 

The order of her journey, and the means 
by which it might be accomplished, had 
been left entirely to her uncle, and a couple 


of days since a sailor-looking man had 
come to say that the Mary Jane of Fowey 
was now unlading at Oates' Wharf, and 
her captain had bid him run up and say, 
that he'd been asked by Zebedee Pascal 
at Polperro to convoy round a niece of his 
that he'd find in London ready and waiting 
to go with him, that the captain's name 
was Triggs, and if all went well the Mary 
Jane w^ould get under weigh on Sunday 
morning about four o'clock, so that miss 
had best come aboard the night before. 
Eve, having already received notice that 
Captain Triggs of the Mary Jane was 
to be her escort, accepted the invita- 
tion, and was now waiting for Reuben's 
arrival to accompany her down to the 

Those who have made a first solitary 
venture out into the world will perhaps 


know the contending emotions which were 
stirring within Eve. Later on, when Hfe 
seems one long journey, with few or 
many resting-places, the whole matter is 
altered, and we know that nothing will be 
nearly as good or as bad as we anticipate ; 
our expectations grow more moderate 
and are not so easily damped ; our regret 
is less keen, but more lasting;-. Eve's 
feelinors had reached the stasre when all 
else is mersfed in the s^reat long^inof to be 
gone, and the dread of going. Naturally 
affected by external surroundings, the 
sight of the furniture disarranged, huddled 
together, and swathed for protection in bits 
of carpet and such like wrappings, filled 
her with melancholy ; a melancholy which 
seemed shared in by the cat, who sat 
miserable and disconsolate on the tied-up 
bed, giving pantomimic mews which had 


no sound, but much sadness. The window- 
was curtainless, the firejDlace untidy and 
choked with torn-up paper and useless 
rubbish ; the sea-chest, turned for the occa- 
sion into a table, was littered with the 
remnants of that last meal which Keuben 
had impressed upon her it was necessary 
she should fortify herself with ; the rush 
candle standing on the mantelshelf near, 
just gave enough light to deepen the 
shadows and darken the corners into fit 
lurking-places for imaginary terrors. 

Eve's courage seemed to die within her ; 
her heart grew troubled and reproach- 
ful. Could she be doing wrong ? Ought 
she to have stayed working at her lace- 
mending, as her mother had wished her to 
do ? Did it not seem as if she was forsaking 
that mother in thus going away from all, 
that while they were together had grown 


familiar 1 True it was that she could no 
longer see her, hear her speak, listen to 
her words ; but she could go to the grave 
where she was laid, and in sweet commune 
there feel such a depth of rest and peace 
as never came at any other time. For oft 
beside that daisied mound a spirit seemed 
to stand, and there, 'twas not the breeze 
that stirred the air, but the soft rustle of 
angelic wings. When she w^as gone, would 
that dear presence hovering come, and 
watch, and watch in vain, for her who 
had left it lonely and alone ? The 
thought pierced Eve like au arrow, and, 
overcome by quick remorse, she flung 
herself down and wept so passionately 
that, though Keuben, who had just 
mounted the stairs, knocked sharply 
before entering, she neither stirred nor 
spoke. He opened the door : it needed 


but the sight of her bowed figure beside 
the old chair, with her face hidden down in 
the seat where her mother had always 
sat, to tell him what was giviDg rise to 
the struggle through which Eve was pass- 
ing. The vision of past days when he 
was sure to find the two in loving company, 
the dear motherly face, the cheerful tidy 
room, all came crowding before him, and 
contrasted bitterly with the present grief 
^nd discomfort. A mist swam before 
Reuben's eyes, and he made an involuntary 
pause. Unknown to himself, the next few 
moments would decide one of those turn- 
ing-points w^hich, few or many, come to all 
our lives, and his hand held the balance ; 
his next action, nay, almost his next word, 
would fix the future. How will he act % 
what will he say \ 

Alas, poor Reuben 1 had he loved less 


he would have ventured more, but great 
love is seldom venturesome ; held back by 
a thousand emotions, it stands trembling 
on the threshold over which a more 
selfish passion strides triumphant. Un- 
tutored in love's ways, ignorant of the 
arts by which it is ensnared, Reuben 
was guided by a compassion so tender, 
that his heart let its own anguish 
and its great yearning be swallowed up 
in the one desire to spare his beloved 
pain and keep her from suffering. Gulp- 
ing down the torrent which sprang to his 
lips, he sounded the knell to his fate by 
saying, in a forced tone of commonplace 
surprise : 

* Come, come. Eve ; why, what are you 
thinking of ? I thought to find you ready 
and waiting for me ; it won't do, you know, 
to drive thins^s off to the last minute, 

VOL. I. 5 

6 6 ADAAf AND E VE. 

or if so ' and the rest of the sentence was 

drowned by the noise he made in unneces- 
sarily dragging a box from one side of the 
room to the other, after which, expending 
a further surplus of energy in giving vigo- 
rous pulls to sundry stray pieces of rope,. 
Reuben turned to find Eve standing up 
ready and waiting. 

At sight of her wan face all his firmness 
seemed to desert him, and involuntarily 
stretching out his hand he laid it on her 

^ Eve,' he said, *" my dear one, if you 
could see my heart torn in two to see you 
suffer !' 

But the sympathy had come too late, 
the recoil had been given ; those first few 
words had turned the depth of feeling back 
upon herself, and the heart which lay cold 
and dull within Eve no longer felt re- 


proach for herself, nor craved sympathy for 
her siifterino'. 

' I'm quite ready now/ she said, with a 
Httle movement which told Reuben more 
effectually than words that his small show 
of affection was displeasing to her. ' I've 
said good-bye to everybody, I'll take these 
small thinofs down, and tell the man to 
come, and you'll help him with the boxes 
on to the truck ?' 

' Then ain't you coming up again X 

' No ; I shall go slowly on, and you can 
overtake me ;' and, without another look 
at him, or at the room she was leaving, 
Eve went downstairs and passed out of the 
house into the street. 

Oh ! for how many a weary night and 
day was that walk to dwell in Reuben's 
memory ; the starless sky, the silent gloom 
of the ail-but deserted streets seemed to 



shadow forth the unknown future, while 
every onward step but widened the barrier 
which had insensibly sprung up between 
him and Eve, who moved along me- 
chanically with her face impassible, and 
her manner so distant and cold, that the 
last fond words which lay crowded on 
Keuben's lips were chilled before he found 
courage to speak them. 

But if anything is to be said it must be 
said at once, for the bridge has been crossed, 
the last turning made, and the dark, silent 
river is near, bearinof on its waters a small 
forest of masts, one of which belongs to the 
little barque which is to carry Eve away. 

Away ! the thought flashed before 
Heuben as if he only noAV, for the first 
time, realised that they were going to part; 
all the pain, fear, dejection that lay scat- 
tered over the last two months seemed to 


crowd itself into the anguish of this 
present moment, a great shadow of fore- 
boding rose up to encompass him, a cloud 
of desolation spread its gloom around him, 
and, nerved by the keenness of this agony, 
he seized Eve by the sleeve. 

' 'Tisn't too late !' he gasped ; ^ Eve, 
for the love of God don't go to this place I 
No, I can't tell you what it is,' he added, 
in answer to the frightened look of amaze- 
ment with which she stopped to regard 
him : * but somethino^'s come over me all 
of a sudden that, if we part now, we part 
for ever ; the words seem set ringing in my 
ears, and pull at my heart-strings like a 
passing bell. There's still time to turn 
back ; it needs only a word from you, 
Eve !' he pleaded. 

But Eve's eyes were turned from his, 
gazing away far beyond him. 


Did the balance of destiny again 
tremble 1 if so, it was only for an instant ; 
for before Reuben had time to urge more, 
her face quivered, her whole frame relaxed, 
and, with a voice full of sadness, she 
sighed out despondingly : 

' 'Tis too late now, Beuben — too late, too 
late !' 

And the words had scarce left her lips 
when some one from behind touched 
Heuben on the shoulder, and a man came 
forward, who said : 

' If I'm not signalising the wrong party 
by mistake, my name is Triggs, and forrard 
lies the Mary Jane! 

And after this, save for the common- 
place ' Good-bye ' of friends, there was no 
further leave-taking ; but when the 
morning dawned, and by its light the little 
vessel slowly stole away, a woman's eyes 


were vainly strained towards the shore, 
striving to pierce the mist which hung 
around, and hid from view a man who, 
waiting, stood until the creeping day 
lifted the veil and showed him a blank of 

Then Reuben knew the little ship had 
gone, and as his heart sank down it 
seemed to bid farewell to Eve for ever. 


HE little barque which was carry- 
ing Eve away from her home 
and its early associations was 
bound for Fowey, between which place 
and London Captain Triggs traded. 

On her way to Fowey, some few miles 
further up the coast, the Mary Jane would 
have to pass Polperro, but as it would not 
be possible for her to lay to, or land her 
passenger, it had been agreed that 
Eve was to go on to Fowey, at which 


place her uncle would probably be found 
waitinof to receive her. 

Many an hour had Eve passed in 
pleasant anticipations of her coming^ 
journey, and how it was to be made, in- 
dulging her imagination by picturing the 
three or four days of perfect idleness, Avhen 
there would be nothing to do but sit and 
watch the rolling sea, and feel the ship 
ride gaily o'er the dancing waves. 

Alas, poor Eve ! a very different ex- 
perience was hers to tell, when, towards 
the close of the fourth day, she emerged 
from the tiny cabin, out of which, since 
the time they had lost sight of land, she 
had never stirred, and feebly struggled 
upon deck to find they were already inside 
Fowey harbour, and nearing the qua}'' at 
which she supposed they intended to 


The day had been wet and stormy, and 
the mists hung heavy and thick over the 
crooked, winding streets of Fowey, and 
the wooded heights of its opposite 

At any other time Eve would have 
been struck with the new beauty of the 
scene around her ; but now, weary in body 
and sick at heart, all her thought was, had 
her uncle come, and how much further was 
there to go \ Would this shouting and 
bawling to ' cast off' and ^ hold on ' never 
cease ? The babel of strange sounds 
which naturally accompanies most nautical 
efforts seemed to daze Eve's untutored 
senses, and she had just begun to re- 
linquish all hope of this state of confusion 
ever coming to an end, when the welcome 
voice of Captain Triggs sounded in her 
ears, saying : 

ADA3f AND EVE. 75 

' I half fancy your uncle lia'n't come, or 
he'd be aboard afore now, I reckon.' 

* Perhaps he does not know that the vessel 
has got here yet,' said Eve, * and if not, what- 
ever shall I do V she added anxiously, the 
last remnant of endurance vanquished by the 
fear of spending another night on board. 

'Well, he'd calkilate on our being here 
some time to-day, though I 'spects he'd 
reckon on us gettin' in a brave bit earlier 
than us has, by which raison us may find 
nn stuck fVist at the King o' Proossia's ; 
howsomedever, you'ni all right now, for 
my house is only over to Polruan there, 
and my missis 'ull make 'ee comfortable for 
the night, and you can go on in the morn- 
ing, you knaw.' 

* Thank you,' said Eve, faintly, 'but I 
should like to make sure first that uncle 
has not come.' 


' Iss, iss ; all right, usll rin up to 
Mrs. Webber's to wance ; I can go with 
'ee now^ so come 'longs/ and he held out 
his hand to help her down from the cask 
upon which, in order to get out of the way^ 
she had seated herself. ^ Steer clear o' 
they ropes/ he said, as they crossed the 
deck, after which poor Eve, abandon- 
ing herself to the certainty of a watery 
plunge, came with a flop down into one of 
the several small boats which lay bobbing 
about near enough to form an unsteady 
sort of bridge across to land. 

^ There us is, you'm right 'nuf now !' 
exclaimed Triggs cheerily, as Eve paused 
for an instant at the top of the few 
steps to take breath. ^ I'll warrant you 
won't be in no hurry to volunteer for the 
next voyage,' he added, laughing, as he 
caught sight of her pale face. ' Why, you 


be a poor hand on the waiter surely, I 
don't believe that you've so much as held 
your head up for five minutes since us 

' I feel just as if I was on board the 
ship now,' said Eve, trying to steady 
her staggerino^ footsteps. * I do hope that 
I shall find my uncle here, I am longing 
to be at my journey's end.' 

^ Well, I hardly know \\hat to say till 
I've bin inside, but I half fancy if he'd 
come, us should ha' sin un about some- 
wheres afore this,' and he turned to take 
another scrutinisinof look around before 
entering the inn, in front of which they 
now stood. 

It was an odd, queer-looking place, even 
in those days reckoned out of date and old- 
fashioned. Irregular stone pillars raised 
it some twelve feet from the Gfround 


making it necessary, in order to gain the 
door, that you should mount a perilously 
steep flight of steps, up which, with an 
alacrity familiarity alone could have 
rendered safe. Captain Triggs ran, giving 
an unnecessary duck of his head as he 
passed under the swinging signboard on 
which was depicted the once universally 
popular Prussian hero. 

A minute or so elapsed, and then 
he emero^ed ao^ain, this time biddingf- 
Eve to * come on,' as it was ^ all right,' 
in accordance with which invitation 
she followed his direction, and stepped 
from across the threshold into a room 
which by contrast looked so bright and 
cheerful that, with a sigh which seemed to 
relieve her burdened spirit of half its 
weight, she sank down into the nearest 
empty chair. 


' Why, Avho have 'ee got there then, 
Capen Triggs ? demanded a voice which 
proceeded from a railed-ofF portion of the 
farther end of the room ; '■ 'tis never she 
that Sammy Tucker's bin axin' about — he 
spoke as if her was a httle maid. Why, 
do 'ee go near to the fire, my dear, you 
looks all creemed with the cold and as 
wisht as can be.' 

* Here, take a drop o' that,' said one of 
the men, pushing a glass of steaming grog 
towards her, while the others moved up on 
the settle so as to leave the nearest seat to 
the fire vacant. 'Don't be afeard of it, 
*tis as good a drop o' sperrits as ever was 
paid toll for — eh, Mrs. Webber '?' and he 
gave a significant wink towards the buxom 
landlady, whose jolly rubicund face, and 
stout though not ungainly figure, was quite 
in keeping with its background of orna- 


mental kegs, glasses, and bottles, filled with 
cordials and liquors seldom seen except in 
houses frequented by wealthy and well-to- 
do people. 

The fear of giving offence made Eve 
raise the glass to her lips, but the smell, 
forcibly reminding her of the remedies 
which had been pressed upon her during 
her recent voyage, so overcame her that 
she was obliged to hastily set it down with 
a faintly-spoken apology that she wasn't 
feeling very well, as she had only just 
come off the sea. 

' Have 'ee come with Capen Triggs, 
then ? not all the way, for sure V 

^Yes, I've come all the way from 

' Have 'ee though ! and where be goin' 
to — who's your folks here, eh V 

^ I'm going to Polperro,' replied Eve, 


somewhat amazed at her interlocutor's out- 
spoken curiosity. ^ I have an uncle living 

* Her's own niece to Zebedee Pascal,' 
broke in the landlady, Avho, having by this 
time learnt from Captain Triggs all he 
knew of Eve's history, w^as unwilling 
that the first batch of news should be 
given out by any other than herself ; ' her 
mothei-'s a died and her's left all alones, and 
Zebedee's wrote to her to come down to 
Polperro, and bide with they so long as 
ever her likes, or for good and all if her's 
so minded to. He'd ha' come for her hisself, 
but they ain't a landed yet ; so he's sent 
word in by Sammy Tucker that her's to 
go back with he. 'Twas never thought 
they'd be so late in, so Sammy was all 
ready to start by four o'clock ; though now, 

VOL. I. G 


when 'tis nigh 'pon the stroke o' six, he 
ain't to be found no place.' 

^ Why, I knaws where he's to/ said one 
of the audience. ^ I seed un, as I come up 
along, sittin' into my cousin Joe's ;' and, 
moved by the look of weary anxiety ou 
Eve's face, he added, ' Why, if 'ee likes, 
I'll run and see if he's there now, shall I ? 
and tell un to look spry too, for 'tain't 
every day he's got the chance o' car'yin 
such a good-lookin' young Avoman up 
behind un.' 

The compliment, half-sheepishly spoken, 
brought the colour into Eve's j)ale face, 
and it deepened as the eyes of each 
one present were turned in her direc- 

^ 'Tis a purty-faced maid, surely,' was 
buzzed about the room, until the landlady, 
out of pity for Eve's confusion, gave a 


dexterous twist to the conversation by 

' I can't fiither lier on any o' the Pascal 
folks, though, they're all such a dark- 
featured lot ; 'ceptin' 'tis Adam, and he's as 
fair as he's franty.' 

A general nod had just given consent 
to the truth of these remarks, when the 
man who had volunteered to fetch Eve's 
escort arrived, accompanied by him and 
Captain Triggs, who had run down to take 
another look at how thinofs were 2foin2f on 
on board the Mary Jane, and lend a hand 
in bringing up Eve's box. 

' Well, here you be at last, then,' ex- 
claimed Mrs. Webber, with a nod of remon- 
strance at Sammy Tucker's unexplained 
absence ; ' 'tis a hunderd to one her hasn't 
gone to Poh'uan afore this — slippin' off and 
nobody able to tell wliere you're to. I 

G— 2 


wouldn't ha' bin in your shoes, I can tell 
'ee, if you'd a had to shaw 3^our face to 
Joan Hocken and nothin' better than 
empty sacks behind 'ee.' 

A general laugh was caused by this 
sally, followed by a few more home-thrusts 
at Sam Tucker's expense, which made him 
not sorry to seem engrossed in the cere- 
mony of an introduction, which Captain 
Triggs briefly effected by giving him a 
lurch in Eve's direction, as he said : 

^ There lies yer cargo, Sammy ; and my 
advice is, get it aboard and up stick and 
away so quick as you're able,' 

^ Hope I see 'ee well, miss/ said Sam, 
trying to recover his equilibrium, after 
falling against two men whose heads he 
had brought rather sharply together. 

' I say, young chap, where might you be 
a steering to, eh '?' exclaimed one ; while the 


other, with a very decided anathema, 
hoped that he might have no more of that 
sort of game, or he'd know the reason why 
— words spoken in a tone which made 
Eve move with greater alacrity than 
she had before thought possible, and, 
nodding a shy farewell to those around 
her, she hastily moved from her seat out 
to the space in front of the bar, where 
another five minutes had to be spent in 
declininof the various cordials which Mrs. 
Webber was bent upon fortifying her with. 
Then the horse had to be brought round, 
the boxes carried to a place of safety until 
some boat was found to convey them to 
Polperro, and finally Captain Triggs put 
in his head and announced all ready for 

' But I'm never to go like that ?* ex- 
claimed Eve, aghast at seeing nothing 


but the small horse on which Sam Tucker 
was already mounted. ^ Oh, I can't ! 
Why, I should be certain to fall off ; I was 
never upon a horse in my life !' 

^ No reason why you shouldn't begin 
now, my dear/ laughed the landlady, who 
had accompanied Eve to the door. ' Why, 
what be feared of? Bless the maid, 'tis 
only to hold tight on by Sammy, and you'll 
be right enuf !' 

' But my box ! how's that to go ? Oh, 
I thought surely they'd have sent a 
cart !' 

^ A cart ?' echoed a voice from among 
the party, all of Avhom had come from 
within to witness Eve's departure. ^ I 
say, Sammy, how many carts has thee 
got to Polperro, eh ?' 

' Why, wan,' answered Sammy, stolidly. 

* And when you wants he, you puts un 


in a boat and pulls un round, doan't 

This observation seemed to aiibrd much 
merriment, which Mr. Tucker not relishing, 
he called out : 

* Come, miss ! us must be thinkin' about 
goin', you know.' 

' Iss, that you must,' said Captain Triggs, 
decisively. * Now put your foot there, and 
I'll give 'ee a hoist up,' and, suiting the 
action to the words, he all but sent Eve 
over the other side. 

This little lurch, as the captain called 
it, was, however, soon remedied ; and 
before Eve had time to enter another 
protest, the horse, weary of standing, put 
an end to the matter by setting off with a 
very tolerable amount of speed, and away 
they went clattering along the narrow 
length of North Street, Eve far too 


frightened to be able to think of anything 
beyond how best she might keep tight hold 
of her companion. 

At length, to her momentary relief, they 
stopped, but only for a moment; for Sammy, 
discovering that the ferryboat was on the 
point of starting, gave vent to some vigorous 
halloos, which he kept up, until by dint of 
* Gee up's,' ' Come hither, then,' and 
'Woa's,^ they at last found themselves 
safely standing in the capacious ferry- 

' Be 'ee goin to get down X asked the 

But before Eve could answer, his com- 
panion bawled out : 

' Noa, noa ! let be where her is ; the 
watter's comin' in so fast we'm knee-deep 
here already.' 

' Her's gotten a leak in her some place/ 


said the first man, by way of apology for 
his mate's impetuosity. ' I can't think 
where 'tis to though, and us haven't time to 
lay her up by dayhght to see neither ; but 
I reckon us had better do so 'fore long, 
or 'er'll carry us all to bottom. Her's 
drawing watter now most powerful 

' Wa-al,you wunt get no toll from we, 'less 
you car's us safe,' piped a chorus of women's 
voices from the stern, where they sat 
huddled together, trying to keep their feet 
out of the water which flowed in with 
every length the boat took. ' The young 
woman up there's got the best of it, I 

' And so her seemeth to think, too,' said 
the outermost of the party, ' to look how 
her's houldin' on to un. Why, do 'ee think 
you'm goin' to lost un in crossin', my 


dear X she said, addressing Eve, who heard 
her words, although she heeded not, 
for hfe must be secured, though it were 
by holding on wdth might and main to 
Sammy Tucker's back. 

So the women laughed, and Sammy 
simpered, but Eve neither spoke nor 
relaxed her hold until they were out of 
the boat, up the steep hill, and fairly jog- 
ging quietly along what seemed, by com- 
parison, a level road. 

Then Eve ventured to turn her eyes 
from her companion's dusty coat, and cast 
them timidly around. Even in the open 
country the light had by this time begun 
to fade away, so that between the high 
narrow hedges, along Avhich their road lay, 
it w^as grey and shadowy. Mile after mile 
was passed, with nothing more to be seen 
than walls of tanofled briars and brush- 


Avood, whose out-stretched trails Eve had 
constantly to shrink back from. 

Sometimes a gate or opening would 
disclose the undulating country beyond, 
the white mists hanofino* thick and low 
over the slopes of turnips or stubble. 
Fortunately for her, her companion was 
not given to loquacity, so that, except 
when by a wave of his short stick he 
signified that this farm was Poljan, and 
that Withers, or that the dark object 
rising: on the rig[lit was Lansallos Church, 
'Where they all lies buried to,' he pre- 
served a merciful silence, thus affording 
Eve the full liberty of inwardly groaning 
at the misery she endured, by being jolted 
over the rough stones with which the 
old pack-horse road was promiscuously 

' It seems a very long way,' she said 


at last, as, after reaching the foot of a 
particularly steep descent, they seemed 
about to enter a valley shut in by what, 
to Eve, looked like mountains. ' Is that 
the sea ?' she added eagerly, as a sound 
of water fell upon the ear. 

'■ The say !' repeated Sammy ; * Lor' 
bless 'ee, there ain't no say here ; that's 
the watter,' he explained, raising his voice, 
for the stream seemed, for a minute, to be 
running a race with them. ' Up back 
there,' and his unexpected turn nearly 
sent Eve into the road, 'the mill is. 
That's where I lives to, with Joan's mother: 
her married my feyther — only feyther's 
dead now, so th' mill's mine. Uncle 
Zebedee's wife was Joan's mother's sister, 
so that's why her lives with un ; and 
as you'm his niece, too, they axed me to 
bring 'ee home. They didn't think ye'd 


bin so late in, d ee see ? or I reckon they'd 
ha' sent word for 'ee to bide the night at 
Mrs. Webber's.' 

Interested in this explanation of her 
new family ties, and the relation they 
bore to one another. Eve was about to 
inquire if she should see Joan, and what 
she was like, when Sammy, catching sight 
of the distant lights, was fired by the 
laudable ambition of making a good entry 
into the village which they were now 
fast approaching; and giving a vigorous 
application of his stick, away w^ent the 
horse past a row of houses, through the 
open hatch-doors of which, Eve caught 
glimpses of domestic interiors and social 
groups, evidently disturbed by the hores's 
clatter, for at the sound they jumped up, 
peered out into the darkness, and flung 
after them an inquiring ' Good-night V 


' Iss, good-night ; 'tis only me !' roared 
Sammy, an answer which was apparently 
satisfactory, as the next *" good-nights ' 
sounded more hearty and cheerful. 

Then a sudden narrowing of the road, 
and they were in the street — had turned 
a corner — forded a stream — and, oh, wel- 
come finale! had come to their journey's 
end ; and before Sammy could apply the 
knob of his stick, the house-door had 
opened, a stream of light from within was 
sent out into the street, discovering a girl, 
who, after a moment's hesitation, ran to 
the horse's side, tip-toed up to seize hold 
of Eve's hands, exclaiming, in a pleasant 
voice, as she did so : 

' Why, is this Eve ? I'm Joan Hocken, 
so we'm kind o' cousins, you know ! Why, 
whatever have they bin doin' with 'ee till 
this time o' night ? I was looking for 'ee 


hours agone. There, wait till us gets a 
stool, my dear, and then you'll be able 
to step down easy.' 

Eve tried to return this o-reetingf with 
as much cordiality as she could com- 
mand, but no great strain was put upon 
her, for Joan asked a dozen questions, with- 
out waiting for half of them to be answered, 
and by the time Eve had managed tO' 
extricate herself and her garments, had 
stepped down and stretched her cramped 
limbs, Joan was in full possession of all that 
had taken place during the state of ex- 
pectancy which had preceded her arrival. 

' Take care o' the step,' said Joan, 
pushing open the hatch-door for Eve 
to enter, while she lingered behind to aim 
a few parting arrows at Sam Tucker, in 
whom Joan's presence seemed to have 
aroused the power of continued laughter. 


The opportunity thus afforded, Eve 
spent in casting a look round the room, a 
moderately-sized one, but unusually narrow 
for its length. A cheerful fire burnt on the 
hearth, and the light of its fierce bright 
blaze played on the walls, one side of 
which was taken up by an elaborately- 
furnished dresser, while in an opposite 
corner stood a capacious glass cupboard. 
The rest of the furniture was of a fashion 
far above anything Eve had expected to 
see, so that, without being able to bestow 
much separate notice on the things in- 
dividually, the effect produced was a sud- 
den thouoiit that her uncle must be much 
better off than she had imagined him to be; 
this made her wonder where he was, and 
Joan coming in at the moment, she said : 

' Isn't Uncle Zebedee at home ? Shan't 
I see him to-night V 


*No, the boats is away, and us don't 
'spect no news of em 'til to-morrow or next 
day, so us two '11 have to put up with wan 
'nother's company 'til then, and ofttimes 
after, if you bides here, which I hope,' she 
added, smiling, ' you will, when you comes 
to knaw us a bit better.' 

Eve looked up to show that she ap- 
preciated this kindly speech, and their 
eyes meeting, they let them linger for an 
instant, while each made a shy inspection 
of the other's personal appearance. 

Joan was a bright-faced, good-looking 
girl, with quick dark eyes and a white skin 
which no exposure seemed able to tan ; she 
was rather below the middle heisrht, and 
had a round compact figure which was set 
off to advantage by her quilted petticoat 
and handsome coloured chintz gown, the 
style and pattern of which had immediately 

VOL. I. 7 


caught Eve's notice ; the handkerchief, too, 

which was tucked into her bodice was 

many degrees finer than anything Eve 

possessed ; and to crown all, the cap which 

she wore was actually trimmed with real 

French lace. In the surprise caused by the 

sight of such an unexpected display, Eve 

entirely forgot what Joan's face was like, 

while Joan, who generally took in the 

complete costume of any one before her, 

had not even noticed that Eve's dress 

was plain after a fashion very unusual in 

those parts. Her eyes were still resting 

admiringly on the face before her, struck 

by its being quite unlike any she had 

ever seen ; the delicately- cut features, the 

fair yet not white skin, the deep-set 

eyes with their drooping fringe of black 

lashes, all had a separate charm for 



' Don't 'ee never have no colour V she 
said, putting the question which arose to 
her mind. 

' Colour !' 

' 'Iss, in yer cheeks, T mean.' 

' Oh no !' and Eve put up both her 
liands as if trying to remedy the de- 
fect. ^ I don't know how it is/ she 
said, ' that I'm so pale and sallow- 

' Sailer ! do 'ee call it V laughed Joan ; 
* I wishes I was sailer, then. I b'lieve if 
I was to drink Avhole tubs o' vinegar — and 
I have drunk quarts,' she nodded emphati- 
cally — ' I should still have a colour like a 
piney. But there, you may get your health 
better away from the town ; and if so, you 
won't w^ant to go back never no more, 
will 'ee V 

The coaxiniTf tone of voice said so much 


100 An AM AND EVE. 

more than the words, that Eve, unused 
to the sweet singing cadence of a West- 
country voice, felt grateful to the girl for 
her kindly feeling. 

' If they're all like you, I'm sure I shall 
like to stay as long as you want me to,' 
she said, with a little quaver ; ' but there's 
uncle to know yet. I'm such a stranger to 
you all,' she sighed, ^ that I don't know 
anything about anybody, who they are, 
nor nothing.' 

^ Oh, that's soon made straight !' ex- 
claimed Joan, well pleased at any oppor- 
tunity that allowed her tongue to run. 
' You sit down there now,' and she pulled 
forward a large stuffed elbow-chair, ^ and 
have your tay and that comfortable, and 
I'll tell 'ee all about our folks. First 
there's Uncle Zebedee — well, there's only 
one o' his sort goin', so 'twould be waste o' 


time to tell up about he. He'll be better to 
'ee than twenty fathers, though Adam's 
got no cause to say that. Adam's his son, 
us two maidens 's cousin.' 

' Who's Adam V asked Eve, more for 
the sake of showing a polite attention 
than out of any particular interest she felt 
in the conversation, for the sense of ease 
produced by the comfortable seat and re- 
freshing tea was beginning to take effect ; 
a lazy indifference to anything that did not 
necessitate exertion was stealing over her, 
and though she repeated, ' Oh, my cousin 
is he ?' it came upon her as a fact of no 
importance, and just after that there came 
a blank for a moment, and then the room 
here suddenly changed to the one she had 
left behind, and it was no longer Joan but 
Reuben May sitting opposite to her ; a 
jerk of her nodding head, and this transfer- 


mation was upset; and Eve opened her 
eyes with a sudden stare which made Joan 
burst into a laugh^ as she jumped up, 
saying : 

* Why, I declare you've bin to sleep, and 
no wonder too, poor sawl, after the time 
you've had of it. Come 'longs, and let's 
be off to bed, and I'll tell 'ee the rest to- 

* Don't think that I was asleep,' said 
Eve, making an effort to rouse herself; ' I 
only shut my eyes for a minute, but I 
heard all you were saying.' 

Joan laughed doubtingly. 

' I did indeed,' urged Eve. * 'Twas some- 
thing about Adam — he's my cousin, isn't 

'■ 'Iss, that's all right,' laughed Joan ; 
then, stooping to pick up Eve's cloak 
and hood, she looked in her face for a 


moment, gave a little pincli to her cheek, 
and said, as she did so, ' and I wonder 
whatever he'll think of his new-found 
relation V 


HE next morning Eve awoke to 
find that much of her fatigue 
was gone, and in its place a 
languid depression was left, often the 
sequence to an undue amount of exertion. 
She got up and dressed herself, but the 
feeling still had possession of her; so 
that, when on going downstairs the 
woman, who did the rough work of the 
house, told her that Joan had just stepped 
out for a few minutes — ' Her said herd 


be back in half an hour to most — ' 
Eve, with the hope that the air might 
freshen her, decided that she too would 
go for a little stroll. Finding herself 
outside the house, she stood for a few 
moments debating which would be the best 
w^ay to go — up or down ? or across over 
the narrow bridge under which the brook, 
swollen by recent rain, was impetuously 
flowing ? It could not matter much, and, 
influenced by the novelty of walking across 
the water, she retraced the street by which 
on the previous night she had made her 
entry into the village. Here it struck her 
that it would be a pity to go over exactly 
the same ground again, so at the corner 
she turned her steps up the hill, until some 
yards farther on, the road becoming again 
divided, she took the left-hand path, and 
found herself all at once in the midst of a 


labyrinth of houses, some of which went 
up steps, some went down ; some were 
tolerably large, others barely more than 
huts. But however the external part of 
their dwellings might differ, the inhabitants 
seemed actuated by one spirit, which led 
them to leave off doing whatever they 
might be about, run to the door, and openly 
stare at the stranofer. ^ Comed last niofht,' 
^ Sammy Tucker/ ' Zebedee Pascal's own 
niece,' w^ere whispers which came floating 
past Eve as she hurried on, rather put 
out of countenance by finding herself the 
object of such general observation. At 
another time she would have been far less 
affected, but now her spirits were low and 
uneven, and it was an unspeakable relief to 
her to find herself past the houses and 
between a lonsf low shed which formed 
part of a building-yard, and a heap of 


piled-up, roughly- hewn blocks of stone, over 
which some children w^ere running, too 
engrossed in their play to pay any heed to 

' How foohsh of me to take notice of 
such things,' she said to herself, reprovingly; 
and then the feelinof of loneliness came 
over her again with redoubled strength. 
She would not admit to herself that she 
was regretting that she had left her home, 
and, with a determination to give no place 
to such a doubt, she tried to busy herself 
by thinking if the room would be all right 
and her furniture safe, and Reuben kind 
to the cat, w^iich, though an animal he 
abominated, he had promised to take care 
of for her sake. 

For her sake ! Yes, Reuben would do 
most thinors that she asked him : he was 
indeed a dear, kind friend to her, and she 


almost wondered what she could want 
altered in him. He loved her, did all he . 
<3ould to please her, only asked for her to 
care for him in return ; and did she not do 
that ? A tenderness, such as she had 
never felt before, stole into Eve's heart. It 
was as if the yearnings which from afar 
Keuben was sending after her were being 
answered ; an instant more and an echo 
would carry back to him the open-sesame 
to her love, of whose birth that soft 
fluttering sigh seemed the herald. 

Surely nobody was watching her ! Eve 
looked up with the coy bashfulness of 
a maiden who fears she has betrayed 
her secret, and at the sight which met 
her eyes a cry of sudden surprise escaped 
her, for there lay the sea, the vast, 
dashing, wave-ridden sea, which must be 
spreading out away far beyond that hill 


which, overhanging, hid it from her 
sight. A moment's pause, and then at 
full speed, with a pent-up impatience, 
which made her avert her eyes so that 
she might look no more until she had 
reached the top, and could command the 
whole, Eve ran forward, never stopping 
until, the height reached, she stood with 
an awed face, and, slowly turning, gazed 
upon the scene spread out before her. 

To right, to left, around, above, below, 
the sea and sky mirrored each other, 
both vast and fathomless and blue, save 
where they mingled, and together framed 
themselves within a belt of silvery light. 

A tremor ran through the girl's slight 
frame, her whole body quivered with 
emotion ; the glory of that longed-for sight 
mastered her, its grandeur overpowered 
her, and, clasping her hands, she flung her- 


self down against the slope and let her 
tears come unrestrained until, her sobs 
abating, her heart seemed eased, and she 
was able to look around her with return- 
ing calmness. 

From the point on which she stood not 
a habitation was to be seen ; the cliffs, 
which, grass-crowned and green, were 
kissed by the clouds above, ran broken 
and bare down to the sea below, their grey 
base lapped and washed by the foam- 
ing waves ; the wind, soft but cool, told 
tales of having lingered by the gorse and 
played among the thyme, a fresh scent 
from which came up in sweet reproach, 
trodden under by the footsteps, Eve was 
at length unwillingly obliged to turn 
towards the house. 

With many a lingering look behind, 
slowly she came along until, some half- 


^vay down the steep descent, the httle 
village opened into view. 

Many a year has passed away since 
Eve Pascal stood arrested by the beauty 
of that scene. Towns have dwindled 
into hamlets, villages have been turned 
into cities ; in not a few places the very 
face of the earth is so chanofed that men 
would stand strangers on the spot where 
they lived and died, but not so here ; 
a street added to, a road made, a few houses 
more or less, and Polperro now is as Pol- 
perro then — quaint, picturesque, and hidden 
from the world around. Clustered on the 
ledges of the rock ' the village coucheth 
between two steep hills,' forming the en- 
trance to a narrow, winding valley, shut in 
by high slopes with craggy summits. As 
a foreground spreads out the sea, its force 
held back on one side by the hill descend- 


ing headlong into its water, and on the 
other by the peak whose pinnacles stand 
towering black and bare. 

All this is still the Polperro of to-day, 
but the people are changed into a quiet, 
simple fishing folk, with nothing but a dim 
memory — fast fading out — of those men 
and women of a bygone day who made 
and broke laws according to the code they 
themselves had instituted ; were bound to- 
gether by their given word which none 
had ever broken ; punished a thief, and 
scorned a lie, with hearts as honest and 
consciences as clear as if they had never 
heard of a free-trader, and were ignorant 
of what was meant by a ^ good run of 

Sheltered from observation, with a safe 
and commodious harbour, most difficult of 
approach save to the amphibious popula- 


tion who had been reared amid its rocks, 
Polperro seemed marked out as a strong- 
hold for the hfe of daring deeds and hair- 
breadth escapes in which the hardy, reck- 
less sailors of that time revelled. 

The rage for excitement then manifested 
in London and the great towns by a per- 
vading spirit of gambling, highway-rob- 
bery, and betting, had spread itself into 
the country under cover of poaching, and 
reached the coasts in the sha|)e of smug- 
gling ; and how could a pursuit be dishonest 
or disgraceful in which, if all did not bear 
the risks, none refused the benefits ? 

The rector and the magistrate drank the 
brandy, their wives and daughters wore the 
lace, and gossiped over the tea ; even the 
excise officer shouldered the tub laid at his 
door, and straightway became blind to all 
that was going on around him. tl 

VOL. I. 8 


could hardly need more than this to 
satisfy minds untutored and consciences 
not burdened by scruples, that, though 
their trade might be unlawful, the offence 
was venial; and so universally had this 
spirit worked and spread in Polperro, that 
at the time when Eve came amono* 
them, by whatever trade they might call 
themselves, a common interest bound the 
whole community together : the farmer, 
the miller, the smith, the shopkeeper, each 
had his venture ; the serving man or maid 
brought his or her hoards the child its 
little nest-egg, trusting it to the keeping 
of those who were sure to turn the slender 
store to fortunate account. 

The aged and infirm watched the sign of 
a land of goods with eager interest, for 
the workhouse and parish relief was un- 
known, and those past labour supported 


themselves by the sale of articles brought 
to them free of freis^ht. 

If Eve's father had ever entered into 
any details of this life, from which a press- 
gang had taken him, and to which his 
early death had prevented him returning, 
Mrs. Pascal had never thoucyht fit to re- 
peat them to her daughter ; and when Eve 
left London it was with the conviction that 
she was going to her uncle, a fisherman, 
whose means she expected to find slender, 
and his abode as humble as the one she 
was leaving behind her. 

Weakened by fatigue as on the previous 
night her powers of observation were, she 
could not help being struck by the visible 
marks of superiority in the furniture, and 
a plenty amounting to extravagance on the 
table. Then Joan's dress and lace cap only 
increased the bewilderment, so that, though 


1 1 6 ADAM AND E VE. 

politeness checked its utterance, her mind 
was full of curiosity, which she felt she had 
no right to satisfy by taking advantage of 
Joan's evident weakness for giving infor- 

Until the previous evening when the 
two girls met. Eve had known nothing 
about Joan, except that her uncle's letter 
had said that she wouldn't be alone in the 
house, as his late wife's niece lived there 
and looked after things for him. For some 
reason the idea which Eve had formed in 
her mind about this niece was that she 
must be a sober, sedate, middle-aged per- 
son; and it was no small relief to her to 
find that she had been completely mistaken, 
and had for a companion the bright, merry- 
faced girl who now, as she reached a 
before unperceived bridge, darted towards 
her, exclaiming : 


' Well, for certain I thought you'd ruu 
home agen, or was pisky-laid or something. 
Why, wherever had 'ee got to ? When I 
went away I left 'ee sleeping as fast as a 

* Is it late ? have I been long ?' asked 
Eve. ^ Oh I I am sorry ; I didn't think 
I'd stayed hardly a minute after I'd got to 
the top, but it is so lovely — oh I I could 
spend my day looking at it.' 

^ Looking at it !' repeated Joan ; ' looking 
at what \ Where have 'ee been to the top 
to ? Why, the maid's mazed/ she laughed; 
' there's nothin' up there to look at.' 

* Nothinof to look at !' exclaimed Eve, 
reproachfully, ^ and the beautiful lovely sea 
all around you '?' 

* Well, but if there is, there's nothin' 
'pon it. Awh, my dear, if you'm so fond 
of looking out and watching the say, wait 


a bit 'til the boats is comin' in, that's the 
time ; and 111 tell 'ee what we'll do this 
afternoon, if so be you'm so minded — us'll 
go up top o' Hard Head, and if us catches 
sight of 'em comin' in, we'll run down so 
fast as can and tell the news, and you shall 
have himhly for telling it. Why, don't 'ee 
know what kimbly is, then V she said, 
seeing by Eve's face that she did not un- 
derstand her. ' 'Tis the present you gets 
for being the first to bring word that the 
boats be in sight, then they knaws 'tis all 
right,' and she nodded her head signifi- 
cantly ; ' some o' the women are such poor 
sawls, always fainty-hearted, and think- 
ing their men's certain to be took.' 

' Took where V asked Eve, inno- 

But instead of answering her, Joan only 
said laughingly : 


' Oh ! away, any place, back o' beyond 
or somewheres near it ; but come 'longs 
home, do, or 'twill be dinner-time afore 
breakfast's over.' 

At breakfast the bountiful supply which 
appeared again raised Eve's surprise, and 
she could not refrain from saying, in a voice 
which betrayed her wonderment : 

* Are we going to have tea again f 

' Yes,' said Joan. ' Why, don't you like 

' Oh ! I like it, only it's so dear.' 

* Not in this place,' interrupted Joan ; 
' if we minded to we might be drinking tay 
all day long, ah ! and not only tay, but rum 
and brandy, as much as you hke to call for. 
It's only to ask and to have, and cut and 
come af^ain, in uncle's house.' 

' I didn't think to find things any way 
hke that,' said Eve, ' I thought,' she 


added, hesitatingly, 'that uncle would be 
more the same as most working folks are, 
not over well-to-do.' 

* Oh, isn't he though !' returned Joan, 
with an evident pride of relationship. 
'Why, besides his two boats, he's got a 
farm and land, and houses too, and this 
house stuffed from top to bottom with 
everything you can tell up about. Silver 
plate, Indji china, and glass, and I don't 
know what all ; nice pickings for Adam's 
wife, whenever he chooses to take one T 
she added, with satisfaction at the visible 
surprise her communication Avas produc- 

^ Adam isn't married, then '?' said Eve. 

^ No, there's a chance for you ;' and Joan 
gave a little laugh, folloAved by a grave- 
toned ^ and a very good one too, if th' 
other men look at 'ee with my eyes. 


Adam's one that over-valleys everything^ 
he hasn't got, and never cares a button for 
what's his'n ; but there, he's spoilt, ye know, 
by all the maidens here runnin' after un, and 
ready to go down on their bended knees if 
he but so much as holds up his finger to 'em. 
I'd never let no man say that o' me,' she 
said, the quick colour mantling into her 
face. ' I'd die for his love 'fore I'd be 
kept alive by his pity ; that's what my 
mother calls my masterful sperrit, though,^ 
she said, trying to divert Eve's attention 
from thinking^ that her declaration was in- 
fluenced by any personal feeling. 

'Yes, till last nis^ht I didn't know 
you'd got a mother,' said Eve. ^ Uncle 
Zebedee wrote in his letter that a niece 
kept house for him, so I thought perhaps 
you were like I am,' and she glanced down 
at her black dress. 


' Well, I don't know that I'm much 
better off. Father was Uncle Zebedee's 
chum, and mother was Aunt Joanna's sister, 
so when father died, and mother married 
again, Aunt Joanna took me, and some- 
how I don't seem as if I belonged to 
mother ; and I'm very glad I don't, neither, 
for I couldn't abide to be pitched among 
such a Methodic lot as she's married 

' My mother was very drawn towards 
the Methodists,' said Eve gravely ; ^ she 
didn't live to be a member of them, but she 
dearly loved going to their chapel.' 

' Well, I don't mind the chapel-going, 
cos' o' the hymn-singin' and that ; it passes 
the time Sundays, 'specially come winter, 
when, 'ceptin' 'tis for a weddin' or a 
funeral, t' seems ridiklous to toil all the 
way up to church. But there, I'm done 


with the Methodies now; I shan't never 
have no opinion o' they agen.' 

' And for why V asked Eve. 

' Well, I'll tell 'ee for why : what right 
has w^an o' their praichers from Gwennap 
pit, a man as had never set foot in Pol- 
perro before, to spy out uncle and fix upon 
un to make a reg'lar set at, tellin' up 'bout 
the smugglers and all Mr. Wesley had 
w^rote agen 'em. Mr. Wesley may be all 
very well, but he isn't everybody ; and if so 
be he says what they puts down to un, 
why, all I can say is, 'twas better he was 
mindin' his own business.' 

' But what need uncle take offence for V 
said Eve ; then, with a quick resolve 
to set her doubts at rest, she added : ' I 
can't see what it had to do with him. 
Uncle hasn't got anything to do with the 
smuggling, has he V 


' Well, that's best known to uncle his self/ 
said Joan, rising from the table. ^ Only 
mind this, Eve : whenever you hear 
people talking anything against what they 
don't know no thin' about, you just tell 'em 
that you've got a uncle and cousin as 
never did a thing they was ashamed of 
in their lives. And to be set 'pon like that, 
in a chapel, too, where you'm foced to sit 
still with yer mouth shut ; 'twas no wonder 
that uncle swored he'd never set foot inside 
no such place agen — though 'tis very hard 
'pon me, after havin' got un to go there — 
and now, Sundays, 'tis drink, drink, as 
bad as iver.' 

Eve's heart sank within her ; a thou- 
sand undefined fears took possession of 
her mind^ casting their shadows on her 
troubled face, which Joan, quick to note,, 
tried to clear away by sayino^ : 


' A\vli ! YOU know ^vhat men be when a 
passel of 'em gets together, and there's 
nothin' more to do but telhn' up th' old 
stories over and over again ; then, every 
time they can't think of nothin' else, 'tis 
empty their glasses. And uncle's one who's 
all very well so long as he's had nothin', or 
he's had enough ; but betwixt and between 
you might walk with yer head in yer hand, 
and then 'twouldn't be right. Jerrem's th' 
only wan that can manage un at they 
times and sich.' 

^ Jerrem !' repeated Eve, ^ who's he — 
another cousin ?' 

' Well, yes and no ; everybody belongs to 
Jerrem, and he belongs to nobody.' 

* Why, how can that be '?' laughed Eve. 

* Why, 'cos he can't claim blood with 
none o' us here, nor, so far as he knows, 
with none no place else. He was washed 

] 26 ADAM AND E VE. 

ashore one Christmas Eve in th' arms of a 
poor nigger-black, who never fetched the 
shore aUve. 'Twas more than twenty year 
agonO;, on a terrible night o' weather ; the 
coast for miles was strewed with wrecks. I 
can t tell 'ee how many ships was washed 
ashore in Whitsand Bay, and all about 
up to there. To one of 'em the poor 
black man must ha' belonged, and tried to 
save his life and the child's too ; though 
he couldn't ha' bin his own neither, for 
Jerrem's skin's as clear as yours or mine. 
He was naught but a baby like, I've heerd 
'em say, and couldn't spake a word. Oh I 
but Aunt Joanna she did love him dearly, 
though ; 'twas she gived un the name o' 
Christmas, through it being Christmas Day 
when ole Uncle Jeremy, what used to live 
to the Point, runned in and dropped un in 
her lap. " There, missis," he says, '' I've a 


broffed 'ee a Christmas box." So they 
took and called iin Jeremiah Christmas, 
and that's his name to this very day ; and 
he don't awn to no other, only we calls un 
Jerrem for short. Poor aunt, I've a heerd 
her tell scores o' times o' the turn she got 
when she saw 'twas a baby that th' ole chap 
had dropped.' 

' Had they got any children of their 
own, then V 

' Awh, yes ! Adam was a good big boy, 
able to talk and rin about ; and the little 
toad had got a jealous heart inside un then, 
for the minnit he seed aunt kissin' and 
huggin' the baby, he sets up a screech, and 
was for flying at un like a tiger-cat ; and to 
aunt's dyin' day he could never abide 
seein' her make much o' Jerrem.' 

* That wasn't showing a very nice dispo- 
sition, though,' said Eve. 


' Well, no, no more it was ; still I've 
often wished aunt would do other than she 
did, and not be so tooked up with Jerrem's 
€oaxin' ways as she was, for, with all his 
kissin and cossetin of her, when her was 
lain low, poor sawl, 'twas easy to see 
which heart had been most full of love for 
her. But there, we'm all as we was made, 
ye know, some to show and some to 


LTHOUGH the two girls spent 
most of the afternoon on Hard 
Head and the heisfhts around, 
nothing was to be seen of the expected 
vessels, a disaj)pointment which, Joan 
seeming to feel, Eve tried to get up 
some small show of having a share in, 
although in reality it was a relief to her 
that nobody was coming to intrude upon, 
perhaps to dispel, her present state of 
happiness — a happiness so complete that 
VOL. I. 9 


she felt as if she had been suddenly 
transported into the land of her dreams 
and fancies, only that this reality ex- 
ceeded the imap^ination in a tenfold de- 

In the beginning, at each turn she would 
seize Joan by the arm, and excitedly make 
a fresh demand upon her sympathy, until, 
finding that Joan only laughed at such 
enthusiasm about a scene which familiarity 
had robbed of its beauty, Ev^e relieved 
herself by giving vent to long-drawn sighs 
of satisfied content. With something^ of 
that rapture akin to which the caged bird 
hails its newly-gained freedom, did this 
town-bred maiden gaze upon the unbroken 
space before her. 

Whichever side she turned, her eyes fell 
on a scene, every feature of which was 
new to her. Landward, the valley with 


its sloping craggy sides. Seaward, the 
broad blue belt of waters, out into which 
the distant headlands stretched with the 
shadowy dimness of an unknown land. 
Overhead, the sun shone hot and bright, so 
that Joan, languid and drowsy, threw her- 
self down and gave way to her inclination 
to doze ; while Eve, well pleased to have 
her quiet, sat silent and rapt in the beauty 
around her. 

Not a sound came to break the stillness, 
save when the gulls went soaring over- 
head with croaking cries, or the bees 
grew noisy over the nodding thistles. 
Surely in such a place as this sin and 
sorrow must be unknown, for, with those 
one loved on earth, Avho could be sorrowful 
here % This thought was still in her mind, 
when Joan, suddenly awakened, proposed 
they should descend ; and, after stopping 



to cast a last look from the Chapel 
Rock, they took their way back to the 

* Oh my, what steps !' exclaimed Eve, 
as she prepared to follow Joan down a 
worn-away flight, roughly cut out of the 
solid rock. 

^ Fine place for pattens, my dear,' 
laughed Joan, as, having recklessly 
reached the bottom, she stood waiting, 
inwardly tickled at Eve's cautious 

The sound of voices had by this time 
brought to the door of a cottage, situated 
at the top of the landing-place, an old 
woman, wdio, after giving a short-sighted 
scrutiny to Joan, said : 

* Awh, it be you, be it ? I couldn't 
think w'atever giglet 'twas comin'. How 
be 'ee, then V 


' Oh, all right/ said Joan. ' Are you 
pretty well V 

' Iss, there ain't much amiss wi' me. I's 
iver so much better than I war thirty year 
agone. I doan't wear no bunnet now, 
nor no handkecher, nor that ; and I can 
see without no spectacles. Awh, bless 
'ee, if 'twasn't for my legs I should be 
brave, but they swells terrible bad ; and 
that's where I'm goin' to, if so be they'll 
car' me so far, to Tallan beach there, to 
walk 'em down a bit 'pon the pebbly shore : 
the doctor says 'tis the thing to do, and 
the more rubbly the better. Who be you, 
then?' she said, as Eve landed herself 
on the flat beside them. 

' 'Tis Uncle Zebedee's niece from Lon- 
don,' answered Joan, with becoming pride 
in her City connection. 

' Awh, whether she be or no ! wa-al, 


you'm come to the right place here for 
maidens — men to marry and money to 
spend. Awh, I wishes I was young agen. 
I'd tell 'ee 'bout it, and me as could car 
me two gallons o' sperrits and a dollup o' 
tay, besides lace and chaney, and was 
knawed up to Plymouth and for miles 
round. Why, I've bin to the clink afore 
now/ she said triumphantly : ^ and they 
threatened me with Bodmint Gaol wance, 
but not afore I'd marked my man, bless 
'ee : he car'd Poll Potter's score on his 
body to his grave, I'll w^arrant 'em he 

^ Ah, you've bin one o' the right sort, 
Poll,' said Joan ; ' folks now ain't what 
they used to be in your day.' 

' No, tine-a-by, not they,' returned the 
old woman, contemptuously; ''tis all for 
stickin' yerself up for fine madams, now; 


dressiii' out and that. This is the thing — ' 
and she caiioht hold of the lace on Joan's 
kerchief — ' and ruffle sleeves, forsooth ! 
Shame upon 'ee, Joan, and yer uncle too, 
for lettin' 'ee ^vear such fal-de-lals ; and 
Zebedee a sensible man as knows the 
worth o' such, for over a guinea a yard 
and more !' 

* It hasn't got nothin' to do with Uncle 
Zebedee,' said Joan, with a toss of her 
head ; ' 'twas Adam gave 'em to me, 
there now,' and she passed her hand 
gently over the delicately textured frill 
which shaded her somewhat over-coloured 

^ A bit o' sweetheartin', was it ? But 
there, don't 'ee trust to 'un Joan, he 
isn't a-thinkin' of you, take my word 
for that ;' and she raised her voice to 
call after Joan, who, at the first words 


of warning, had ran down the remainmg- 

' Don't you make too sure o' that !' Joan 
called back, turning round under pretence 
of seeing that Eve was coming. 

'All right, only doan't you nayther,^ 
said the old woman, emphatically. ' So 
you be his chield V she said, looking at 
Eve as she passed by ; * and a nice 
rapskallion rogue he war,' she added, with 
a sigh ; ' but for a' that I was mazed after 
un, though he couldn't abide me — more's 
the pity, p'r aps, for he might ha bin alive 
now, though that's nothin' much, neither. 
'Tis a poor tale of it when 't comes to 
naught else but lookin on ; if 't warn't for 
the little they brings me, freight free, and 
the bit o' haggle I has o'er it, I'd as soon 
be out of it as here.' 

The concluding sentence of these reflec- 


tions was lost upon Eve, as slie had 
already overtaken Joan, whose flushed 
face betrayed the annoyance old Poll's 
words had caused. 

' Why, Joan, I do believe you're a sly 
one,' said Eve, ' and that, for all you say, 
Adam's more than a cousin to you.' 

* No, indeed he's not,' replied Joan, 
quickly ; ^ so don't take that into yer 
head, Eve. You'll soon hear from all 
around w^ho's got a soft place for me, but 
'tisn't Adam, mind ; folks brought up 
toofether from babies never turn into lovers, 

' Don't you think so ?' said Eve. ^ Oh, 
I don't know that ; I've heard tell of 
several who've thought different, and have 

* Have 'ee ? What, people you've 
knowed 1* said Joan, earnestly ; ^ they 


who've always lived together in one house 
as we've done! I should like to hear 
about 'em, if 'twas only out of curiosity's 

But unfortunately, when put to the test, 
Eve was unable, by further experience, 
to substantiate her statement, and could 
only repeat that, though she couldn't 
bring their histories clearly to her mind, 
she felt certain she had heard of such 
people ; and Joan shook her head dis- 
appointedly, saying, in an incredulous 
voice : 

' Ah, I can't credit it ; it doesn't seem 
likely to me that ever such a thing could 
come to pass.' 

And she turned aside to speak to a 
comely-looking woman, who came out to 
the door of a near-by house which they 
were passing. 

ADAM AND E VE. 1 39 

' Well, Joan, who've 'ee got there 1' she 
called out. 

While Eve, in order to allow of the 
question being freely answered, turned to 
look at the quaint weather-beaten pier. 
Fortunately it was high- water, and the 
unsightly deposits, often offensive to the 
nose as well as the eyes, were hidden from 

Everything seemed bathed in sunlight, 
and pervaded by a soft drowsy quiet. A 
group of aged men leaned over and against 
the bridge, enjoying a chat together ; some 
boys lounged about the neighbouring rocks, 
and seemingly played at catching fish ; 
with these exceptions the whole village 
seemed delivered up to women. 

' 'Tain't much of a place to look at now,' 
said a voice near. 

And turning, Eve found it came from 


the woman belonging to the house into 
which Joan had by this time entered. 

* Polperro's a proper poor wisht place 
when the boats is out.' 

'Why, are there more boats than are 
here now ?' asked Eve. 

* What d'ee mane — than these here ? 
Why, bless the maid, how do 'ee think 
they'm to reach Guarnsey and places in 
such like as they ? Why, did 'ee never see 
a lugo^er ? No ? well, then, us has got 
somethin' to show 'ee for all you've come 
fra London.' 

* Oh, you've many things here that I 
wouldn't change for all the sights London 
can show,' said Eve, promptly. 

' We have % Why, what be they, then ?' 
^ The country and the sea all around, 
and everything so still and quiet. I was 
thinking, as I sat looking out upon it all 


up on top there, that the people here 
must be forced to be very good !' 

* My hfe !' exclaimed the woman, turn- 
ing round to Joan, ' 'tis time her was cut 
for the simples. Why, do 'ee knaw,' she 
said, addressing Eve, Hhat there ain't 

a place far nor near that's to But 

there,' she interrupted, ' I won't tell 'ee. 
Ill only ax 'ee this much — come down here 
this time next week, and tell me what ye 
thinks of it then. Still and quiet, and 
foced to be good !' she repeated. ' Well, 
I'm blest I why, was 'ee born innicent, or 
have 'ee bin took so all of a suddent V 

Poor Eve blushed confusedly, feel- 
ing, without knowing how, that she had 
been guilty of displaying some unusual 
want of sense ; while Joan, annoyed at 
her being so openly laughed at, exclaimed 
angrily : 


' Don't take no notice o' what she says. 
Eve ; she's always teUing tip a passel o' 
nonsense. And so 'tis just what Eve 
says,' she added, sympathetically ; ^ a 
stoopid old place half its time, with nobody 
to see, and nothink to look at. If uncle 
don't come by to-morrow, we two '11 go to 
Looe or Fowey, or somewheres ; we won't 
die o' the dismals in this old dungeon of a 
hawl. Why t' sodgers 'ud be better than 
nobody, I do declare !' 

* 'Tis so well to wish for t' pressgang, 
while you'm 'bout it,' laughed the woman; 
^and I don't know but you mightn't give 
'em a welcome neither, if they'd only find 
their way up to Crumplehorne and fall in 
Avith our Sammy a-twiddlin' his thumbs. 
Have 'ee took her up to see yer mother 
yet V she asked, jerking her finger towards 
Eve, whose attention was by this time 


completely engrossed in examining the 
contents of the well -furnished dresser. ^ I 
say/ she said, answering Joan's pout and 
shake of the head, ' there'll be a pretty 
how-de-do if you doan't ; her was down 
here sighing and groanin' her insides out 
'cos somebody'd ha' told her they seed 'ee 
to the wrastlin match. As I said, '' Why, 
what be 'ee makin' that noise about, then? 
There was as honest women there as your 
Joan, or her mother afore her." I han't 
a got patience wdth anybody settin' their 
selves up so, 'cos they chance to come fra 
Bodmint. " Fower wa-alls and a turnkey," 
as old Bungey said, when they axed what 
he'd seed there ; and that's purty much 
about it, I reckon, leastwise Avith most 
that makes that journey. Still, if I was 
you, Joan, I'd take her up, 'cos her knaws 
her's here ; Sammy's a-told her that.' 


Joan spent a few minutes in reflection, 
then she said : 

' Eve, what d'ye say '? wilt 'ee go up 
and see mother V 

' Eh, Joan! mother — what, your mother? 
Yes, I should like to very much. I was so 
taken up with all this beautiful china,' she 
said, apologetically, ' that I wasn't Hsten- 
ing to what you were talking about.' 

' Doesn't her clip her words V said the 
hostess, who was a relation to Joan on the 
father's side. ' 'Tis a purty way o' talkin' 
though, and's all of a piece with her. 
You've a lost somebody, my dear, haven't 
'ee ?' she asked, looking at Eve's black 

^Yes, my mother,' said Eve, surprised 
at the tone of sympathy the questioner 
was able to throw into her voice. 

* Ah, that's a sore loss, that is. I've a 


lost my awn mother, so I can tell. Poor 
old sawl ! I thinks I see her now ! 
When we childern had bin off, nobody 
knows how long, and her worritin' and 
thinkin' us was to bottom o' say, her d come 
out with a girt big stick and herd leather 
us till her couldn't stand, and call us all 
the raskil rogues her could lay her tongue 
to. I often thinks of it now, and it brings 
back her words to me. ^^ You may find 
another husband," her'd say, '^ or have 
another chield, but there's niver but the 
wan mother." And some o' that chane^'^ 
there was hers. Weil, that very cup and 
sarcer you'm lookin' at now belonged to 
she ! and so you take it, my dear, and 
keep it. No ! nonsense, but you shall,. 
now !' for Eve was protesting against ac- 
cepting such a present. ' 'Twill only get 
broked up into sherds here ; and if her was 

VOL. I. 10 


alive, you'd a bin welcome to th' whole 
dresserful, her was such a free - handed 
woman I Chaney, tay, liquor, no matter 
what — so long as she'd got, she'd give.' 

'■ I think you must take after her/ said 
Eve, rather embarrassed by such unex- 
pected generosity ; ^ but T really feel as 
if I was taking advantage of your good- 
nature. I shall be afraid to admire any- 
thing again, though that'll be a hard 
thing to do in a place like this, where 
everybody's got such lots of lovely 

' Oh, 'twon't be long afore you'll have 
as good as any one ; for, for sure, they'll 
niver let 'er go back agen. So you'd better 
write to the baws you've left behind and 
tell 'em so to wance.' 

Eve gave a shake of her head, which 
served the double duty of disowning the 


impeachment of a beau, and bidding 
farewell ; and the two girls turned up 
the street, and only waiting to deposit 
Eve's cup in a safe keeping-place, 
they took their way towards Crumple- 

The road recalled to Eve's recollec- 
tion the way by which she had come, 
though it seemed impossible that it was 
only on the previous evening that she had 
traversed it for the first time. The varied 
scenes she had looked upon, the sensations 
she had passed through, had spread the 
day over a much longer space of time than 
that occupied by twenty-four hours. Al- 
ready Joan had made her feel as if she 
was a friend whom she had known for 
years. Even the people whom she 
casually met broke the ice of first ac- 
quaintanceship by such a decided plunge, 



that she was at once at home with them. 
Altogether a new phase of hfe had opened 
for her, and had suddenly swallowed up 
her anxieties about the present, and her 
regret about the future. 

During the whole day, since the early 
morning, not one thought of Keuben had 
entered her mind ; a test, had she been 
given to analyse her feelings, of her per- 
fect contentment. For as long as Eve 
was happy, Reuben would be forgotten; 
let disappointment or regret set in, and 
her thoughts veered round to him. 

* Why, you've turned silent all to once,' 
said Joan, tired of her own five minutes' 

' I was thinking,' said Eve. 
' What about ?' asked Joan. 

* Why, I was thinking that I couldn't 
believe 'twas no more than last niofht I 


passed by here — oh! with such a heavy . 
heart, Joan !' and at the remembrance her 
eyes swam with tears. 

' And for why V said Joan, in some 

' Oh, because I began to feel that I was 
coming to where you'd all be strange to 
me ; and I wondered whether I'd done 
right in leaving my own home Avhere 
mother and me had lived together so 

' Hadn't 'ee any else to leave behind but 
the thoughts o' your mother V interrupted 
Joan, practically. 

' No.' Then, feeling this was not quite 
true, she added : ' That is, nobody that I 
minded much — not that I cared to leave. 
I had somebody that didn't like me going, 
and begged me to stay — but that was only 
a friend.' 


^ A friend ?' repeated Joan^ incredulously 
— ^a friend that sticketh closer than a 
brother, I reckon. Come now, you may 
so well tell me all about it ; I'm sure to 
get at it sooner or later. What's his name, 

* Oh, I don't mind tellin' you his name,' 
laughed Eve. ' Keuben May, that's his 
name ; but 'tisn't he I want to speak of 
— 'tis you, Joan, for makin' me feel so at 
home all at once. I shall never foro^et it, 
never I' 

And as she turned her face toward Joan, 
the drops which had trembled in her eyes 
fell on her cheeks. 

* Why, what nonsense next !' exclaimed 
Joan, impulsively threading her arm 
through Eve's, and hugging it close 
up to her ; ' as if anybody could help 
being kind to 'ee. 'Tis only to look in your 

A DAM AND E VE. 1 f) 1 

face, and you can't do no other ; and 
mind, 'tis none o' my doin's that you'm 
here,' she continued, following out her 
own train of thought. ' I was that set 
agenst your comin', as you never did. I 
couldn't abide the thoughts of it. Adam, 
and me too, took on with uncle ever so, 
when he would have 'ee come ; but 'twas 
no use, there was no turnin' un ; and now 
I wouldn't have it otherwise for iver 
so. You'm so altogether differnt to 
what I looked for ; I thought you'd 
be mimpin' and mincin', and that nothin' 
'ud please 'ee, and you'd be cuttin' up a 
Dido w^ith everything and everybody ; 
'stead o' which 'tis as if I'd know'd 'ee all 
my life, and you'd bin away and come 
back agen.' 

' Oh, I am so glad,' said Eve, laugh- 
ing in the midst of her tears ; ' for when 


youVe lost everybody, as I have, something 
in your heart seem always pining after 
people's love/ 

^ Which you mostly gets, I reckon,' 
said Joan, smiling. ''Tis that innicent 
sort o' look you'm got, and yer mild way 
o' sjieakin', that does it, I 'spects. But you 
must pluck up a spirit afore the men ' — 
for Eve had been telling her how en- 
tirely unaccustomed she was to any but 
female companionship — ^ and be ready with 
an answer afore they speak, so impident 
as some of 'em be. They know 'tis no use 
tr3dn' it on with me, though. I gives 'em 
so good as they brings, any day ; and 
that's what men like, you knov/ — plenty 
o' courage, and a woman that isn't afraid 
o' anything or anybody ; for, no matter 
how I feel, I'd die afore I'd show any 

ADA^f AND EVE. 153 

' But I should show the fear, and die 
too/ said Eve. 

* Not a bit of it,' laughed Joan ; ' I'll 
give 'ee a lesson or two so that you shan't 
know yourself for the same.' Then, sud- 
denly stopping and drawing down her face, 
she said : ' But '' there's a time for every- 
thing," said Solomon the wise, and that 
time ain't now, for there's the mill, and 'tis 
in here that my mother lives. And 
Eve,' she continued, turning round in 
the act of giving the gate a hoist pre- 
paratory to swinging it open, ' if so be 
mother should begin about uncle and they, 
don't you take no heed, 'cos what she 
says doesn't lie deeper down than her 
tongue, and she only says it to keep in 
with the chapel-folks.' 

Eve was spared the awkwardness of 
any reply, by having to bestow all her 


attention on picking her steps through 
the mud by which the gate was surrounded, 
for from most of the people carrying their 
corn to be ground, and not unfrequently 
waiting about until the process was ac- 
complished, the approach to the mill 
w^as seldom or never anything but a 
slough, of a consistency varying with the 
state of the weather. A few yards on^ 
this miry path turned off to the right, 
leaving a tolerably free space of well- 
washed pebbles, in the midst of which was 
the dwelling-house, the door of which was 
conveniently placed so that it commanded 
a full view of the out- gate. In a straight 
line with this door, the upper half of 
which, after the prevailing fashion, was 
left open, a little round table was set, and 
behind this table Eve, drawing nearer, 
perceived an elderly person, whom she 

ABAM A. YD EVE. 155 

supposed must be Mrs. Tucker. But, not- 
standing that by this time the two girls 
were close by, Mrs. Tucker's face con- 
tinued immovable, her eyes fixed, and 
her fingers knitting away as if no mundane 
object could possibly engross such steadfast 

The gaze so completely ignored the 
presence of her visitors, that by the time 
Joan had got up to the door, Eve had 
found ample time to take a critical survey 
of Mrs. Tuckers personal appearance, 
which formed such a contrast to Joan's, 
that it was difficult to reconcile it with 
the close relationship which existed be- 
tween them. 

Mrs. Tucker seemed tall, flat, and bony ; 
her dress was drab, her kerchief black, and 
her cap, under which her hair was all 
hidden, was fashioned after the model of 


a Quaker's. Still her face, though stern, 
was not unpleasing, and its form and 
features were, on the whole, better 
modelled and more delicately cast than 
her daughter's. 

' Well, Joan !' she said at length, with 
a, touch of displeasure in her voice. 

* Well, mother !' answered Joan, with a 
corresponding modicum of defiance. 

Then there was a pause, during which 
Joan evidently waited for her mother 
to say something to Eve, but this hope 
being vain, she was forced into saying, 
with a trifle more aggression : 

'Ain't you goin' to say nothin' to 
Eve, mother ? I brought her up a-pur- 
pose, fancyin' you'd like to see her, p r'aps, 
and 'ud be put out if I didn't.' 

And stepping on one side, she threw 
Eve into the foreground, and obliged 


her to advance with the timid air of one 
who is uncertain of her welcome. 

' I don't know why I should be expected 
to know people afore I've heerd their 
names,' said Mrs. Tucker, stiffly ; ' but, if 
this is Eve — ^vhy — how do you find 
yourself?' and she made just sufficient 
pause between the two parts of her sen- 
tence to give the idea that the greeting, 
prompted by politeness, had been curtailed 
by principle. 

^ I feel better to-day,' said Eve, grow- 
ing confused under the scrutiny she was 

' My son-in-law, Samuel, told me that 
you seemed very tired by your 

* Yes,' answered Eve, feeling her in- 
different treatment of Samuel might be 
the cause of this cool greeting ; ' I fear he 


thought me but poor company. I hardly 
spoke a word all the way.' 

* Well, if you'd nothin' to say, 'tis so 
well to hold yer tongue ; as I tell Joan, 
'tis but a poor clapper that's allays on the 
tinkle. Why didn't you come up to dinner 
then, Joan ?' she said, turning to her 
daughter. ' We mightn't have got dainties 
to set Eve down to, but we've allays got 
somethin' to eat, thank the Lord.' 

* I couldn't tell but what uncle might 
be home, and we can't stay now long, for 
they may be in any hour.' 

' Ah, then uncle hasn't seen Eve yet ? I 
should say he'd be disappointed not to find 
her more featured like her father's family.' 

'■ I don't know why he should be, then,' 
said Joan, sharply. ' I can't tell who she's 
featured after, but somebody a sight better- 
looking than any o' the Pascal lot.' 


* That's as people see/ said Mrs. Tucker, 

' Oil yes,' returned Joan, recklessly ; 
* 'tis free tliought, and free speech, and 
free trade here, and long life to it, I 

' And ^vhat do you say, Eve V asked 
Mrs. Tucker. 

* Eve can't say anythin' about what 
she don't know nothin', can ye, Eve '?' 
said Joan ; ' but as far as she's sin, she 
likes the place dearly, and the people too, 
and she don't intend to go back to London 
never no more.' 

' Oh, Joan, Joan ! don't say that !' ex- 
claimed Eve, trying to give a more pleasant 
turn to the discord which was evidently im- 
pending between the mother and daughter. 

While Mrs. Tucker said : 

* 'Tis early days to make up your mind, 


seeing you haven't sin yer uncle yet, nor 
he you. Joan allays forgets that there's 
more than she has got a voice in matters.' 

' No, Joan don't, mother ; and you'll see 
that there'll be more than uncle and me 
beggin' her to stay. Adam hasn't seed her 
yet,' and the girl looked up with an ex- 
pression of defiance. 

' That's true,' replied Mrs. Tucker, with- 
out altering a tone or a feature ; ^ Eve 
has got to see both the baws — Adam and 
Jerrem, too. 'Tis to be hoped you'll take 
to Jerrem, Eve,' she said, glancing in 
Joan's direction, 'or your uncle will be 
sore put out ; he seems to have got his 
heart set 'pon you and Jerrem makin' a 
match of it.' 

* He hasn't done nothin' o' the sort,' re- 
turned Joan, fiercely ; ' and 'tisn't right in 
you to say so, mother, 'cos uncle, in a joke- 


like, said somethiii' in a laughing way, 
but he didn't mean it no more for Jerrem 
than he did for Adam ; and, as Eve 
hasn't sin neither of 'em, 'tis as Hkely she 
takes to one as t'other, and more when she 
knows 'twould be disappointin' me, for I 
loves Jerrem dearly, Eve, and I don't care 
who knows it, neither.' 

'■ I think if I was a young pusson, I 
should wait 'til I was axed afore I was so 
very free in offering my company to any- 
body,' said Mrs. Tucker, worked at last 
into some show of anger. 

' Oh, no need for that,' laughed the 
irrepressible Joan. ' So long as we under- 
stands each other, whether Jerrem tells me 
or I tells he, it comes to the same thinsr : 
and, now that we've had our hasforle out, 
mother, I think 'tis so well us goes ;' and 
she jumped up, but so heedlessly that the 

VOL. I. 11 


tucked-up train of her gown caught in the 
handle of a neighbouring cupboard -door, 
and she had to stand still while Eve 
endeavoured to disentangle it. 

^ There's one thing I'm glad to see,' said 
Mrs. Tucker, taking note of the two girls 
as they stood side by side, ^ and that is, 
that Eve's clothes is consistent, and I 
hope she's got the sense to keep 'em so, 
and not be a-bedizenin' herself out with 
all manner o' things as you do, Joan. 
I'm fairly fo'ced to close my eyes for the 
dazzle o' that chintz. Whatever you canJbe 
thinkin o' yerself to go dressin up in that 
rory-tory stuff, I don't know. Does it 
never enter yer poor vain head that yer 
miserable body will be ate up by worms 
some day *?' 

' They won't eat it up any the more 'cos 
o' this chintz gown, mother. Ain't it 

ADAM AND E VE. 1 6 3 

sweet and purty ?' she added, turning to 
Eve. ' 'Tis a rale booty, that 'tis ; there 
isn't the hke of it in the place. 'Twas gived 
to me a Christmas present,' she added 
significantly, while the displeasure deepened 
in Mrs. Tucker's face, so that Eve tried 
to throw a little reproof into the look she 
gave Joan, for she saw plainly enough that 
mother and daughter were at cross-purposes 
about somebody, and Joan was bent upon 

Whether Joan noticed the expres- 
sion, she could not tell ; but, after a 
minute's pause, she broke out passionately, 
saying : 

' How can 'ee find it in yer heart to act 
as ye do, mother, never havin' a good 
word or a kuid thought for a j^oor sawl 
who hasn't nobody to cling to natural- 
like '{ Any one 'ud think the religion you'm 



allays preachin up would teach 'ee better 
than that.' 

' Everybody in theh^ j^lace, that's my 
motter,' said Mrs. Tucker, whose stolid 
manner was vividly contrasted with her 
daughter's excitable temperament ; ' and 
the place o' strangers ain't that o' childern. 
Now, 'tis of no use bidin' here to cavil, 
Joan,' she continued, seeing that Joan was 
about to answer her. ' I've used the same 
words to your aunt, and your uncle too, 
scores o' times, and said then, as I say 
now, that a day may come when the3r 
rues it ; and all I pray for is that my mis- 
givins' mayn't come to pass.' 

' Iss ; well, I think you may let that 
prayer bide now, mother 1' exclaimed Joan ; 
♦there's plenty else things to pray for 
besides that, and people too. There's me ; 
you've always got me on hand, you know.' 

ADAM Ai\D EVE. 165 

* I don't forget you, Joan ; you may 
make your mind easy o' that,' said Mrs. 

' Well, here's Eve, you can give her a 
turn now.' 

' Very like I might do Vv'orsc, for I dare 
swear Eve ain't beyond needing guidance 
more than other young maidens.' 

^ No, indeed/ said Eve ; ' none of us are 
too good, and I often have the wish to be 
different from what I am.' 

* Ah, 'tain't much good if you don't go 
no further than wishin'/ said Mrs. Tucker; 
' so far as wishin' goes, you might sit there 
and wish you was home, but you wouldn't 
be a step the further near to it.' 

* That's true,' broke in Joan, ' for I've 
bin wishin' myself home this hour and 
more, and so I should think had Eve, 


* Oh, I dare say/ said Mrs. Tucker. * I 
know very well that I'm no great company 
for young folks ; but a time may come — 
when I'm dead and gone and mouldin'in my 
grave, though you may both be left behind 
— to prove that the words I've a spoke is 
true ; for we all do fade as a leaf, and are 
born to sorrow as the sparks flies upwards;' 
and with this salient remark, Mrs. Tucker 
allowed the two girls to depart, Joan fairly 
running, in her anxiety to be out of the 
place, the further gate of which she 
flung open with such force that it closed 
behind them with a swinging noise that 
seemed to afford her much relief, and she 
gave vent to a loud sigh, saying : 

^ Now, Eve, isn't m^other too much for 
anybody? She just works me up till I 
could say anything. There, don't 'ee look 
like that at me, 'cos 'tis her fault so much 


as mine. She knows what I am^ and what 
sets me up, and yet that's the very thing 
she pitches on to talk about.' 

' I fancy you say things, though, that 
vex her too,' said Eve, smihng. 

But Joan did not return the smile ; her 
face grew more cloudy as she said : 

* Perhaps I do — I dare say; but you don't- 
know all the ins and outs. Some day, hap- 
pen, I may tell 'ee — 't all depends.' And she 
gave another sigh. ' But 'tis shameful to set 
Adam up agen Jerrem, and that mother's 
sure to do if ever she finds the chance. 
She'd tell another story if she'd got to live 
with 'em both, and was allays tryin' to set 
all straight between the two, as I am : and 
Jerrem so madcap and feather-brained as 
he is, and Adam like a bit o' touch-paper 
for temper.' 

* I half think I shall like Jerrem better 


than I shall Adam/ said Eve, with a sly 
look, intended to rouse Joan from her 
grave mood. 

' Do 'ee ?' said Joan, v/ith a smile which 
began to chase away the cloud from her 
face. 'But no ; you haven't seen the two 
of 'em together yet, Eve. When you do, 
I'll wager 'tis Adam you'll choose.' 

Eve shook her head. 

' I'm never one to be taken by looks,' 
she said. ' Besides, if he was everybody's 
choice, why isn't he yours — eh, Mrs. 
Joan V 

Joan feigned to laugh, but in the midst 
of the laugh she burst out crying, sobbing 
hysterically as she said : 

* Oh, because I'm nothin' but Cousin 
Joan, to be made much of when there's 
nobody else, and forgot all about if an- 
other's by !' 


Eve stood amazed. This sudden shift- 
ing mood Avas a mystery to her; she hardly 
knew what to say or do. Surely her 
speech could not have pained Joan 1 if so, 
how ? and why ? She was still hesitating, 
and thinking what comfort she could offer, 
when Joan raised her head with the visible 
intention of saying something — but in 
a moment her attention v;as arrested ; 
she took two or three steps forward, then, 
apparently forgetful of all else, she ex- 
claimed : 

' It must be they ! Yes, there's another ! 
Quick, Eve ! run, 'tis the boats ! One o' 
'em's in sight, and most like 'tis uncle's ! 
If we don't look sharp they'll be in 'fore 
we can get home.' 


10 AN in front, Eve within speak- 
ing-distance behind, the two 
girls made all haste to reach 
the village, where Joan's anticipations 
were confirmed by the various people with 
whom, in passing, she exchanged a few 

Coming within sight of the house, a 
sudden thought made her turn and say : 

^ Eve, wouldn't 'ee like to see 'em 
comin' in, eh ? There's lio^ht enouo^h left if 
us looks sharp about it.' 


Eve's lack of breath obliofed her to 
signify her ready assent by several nods, 
which Joan rightly interpreting, off she 
ran in advance to leave a few necessary 
directions about supper ; after which she 
joined Eve, and together they hurried 
on towards a small flat space just under 
the Chapel rock, where a group of people 
were already assembled. 

The sun was sinking, and its depart- 
ing glory hung like a cloud of fire in 
the west, and flecked the sea with golden 
light ; the air was still, the water calm, 
and only rippled where the soft south-west 
breeze came full upon it. 

Several small vessels lay dotted about^ 
but standing out apart from these were two 
of larger size and different rig, one of 
which just headed the other. 

' 'Tis uncle's in front,' said a weather- 

1 72 ADAM AND E VE. 

beaten old fellow, turniDg round to Joan, 
who, for Eve's convenience, had taken 
her stand on the rising hillock behind. 
^ T' hindermost one's the Stamp and 


' Never fear, the Lottery '11 niver 
be t' hindermost one,' said Joan, boast- 

' Not if Adam's to helm,' lauo^hed another 
man near : ' he'd rather steer to ^ kinof- 
dom come' first, then make good land 

^ And right he should, and why not V 
exclaimed Joan ; ' t' hasn't come to Adam's 
luck yet to learn the toons they play on 
second fiddles.' 

' Noa, that's true,' replied the man, ^ and 
'tis to be hoped 't never will ; t' ud come 
rayther hard 'pon un up this time o' day, I 


' I 'spose uncle's had word the coast's all 
clear,' said Joan, anxiously. 

' Awh, he kno^vs what he's about. Never 
fear uncle ; he can count ten, he can. He 
wouldn't be rinnin in, in broad day, too, 
without he could tell how the coast's 


' Why don't they sail straight in ?' asked 
Eve, following with great interest each 
movement made. 

' 'Cos if they hugged the land too tight 
they'd lose the breeze,' said Joan. ' Her 
don't know nothin' 'bout vessels,' she said, 
apologising for Eve's ignorance. ^ Her's^ 
only just comed here ; her lives up to 

' Awh, London, is it !' was echoed round, 
while the old man who had first spoken, 
wishing to place himself on a friendly foot- 
ini:^ with the new arrival, said : 

1 74 ADAM AND E VE. 

^Awli, if 'tis London, I've a bin to 
London too, I have.' 

^ What, Hving there ?' asked Eve 
' Wa-al, that's as you may choose to call 
it : t'warn't much of a life, though, 
shovellin' up mud in the Thames river fra' 
mornin' to night. Ho wsomdever, that's what 
they sot me to do, ^' for chatin' the King's 
revenoos," ' he quoted, with a comical air of 
bewilderment. ' Chatin' 1' he repeated, 
with a snort of contempt, ' that's a voine 
word to fling at a chap vur try in' to git a 
honest livin' ; but there, they'm fo'ced to say 
sommat, I 'spose, though you mayn't spake, 
mind. Lord no ! you mun stand by like 
Mumphazard, and get hanged for sayin' 
nothin' at all.' 

' Joan, look ! why, they've got past !' 
exclaimed Eve, as the foremost of the 
two vessels, taking instant advantage of a 

ADAM AA'D E VE. 1 75 

piifF of wind, gave a spurfc and shot past 
the mouth of the httle harbour. ^ Isn't it 
in here they've got to come ?' 

' All right ; only you Avait,' laughed 
Joan, ' and see how he'll bring her round. 
There, didn't I tell 'ee so !' she exclaimed 
triumphantly. ' Where's the Stamp and 
Go now, then V she called out, keeping her 
eyes fixed on the two vessels, one of which 
had fallen short by a point, and so had got 
under lee of the peak, where she remained 
with her square brown sail flapping help- 
lessly, while the other made her way to- 
wards the head of the outer pier. ' Now 
'tis time for us to be off. Eve. Come 
along, or they'll be home before us.' 

And, joining the straggling group who 
were already descending, the two girls 
took their way back to the house, Joan 
laughing and vaunting the seamanship of 


her cousin, while Eve lagged silently 
behind with sinking spirits, as the prospect 
of meeting her new relations rose vividly 
before her. Puttino^ tos^ether the thino^s 
she had heard and seen, the hints dropped 
by Joan, and the fashion in which the 
house was conducted, Eve had most un- 
willino-lv come to the conclusion that her 
uncle gained his living by illicit trading, 
and was, indeed, nothing less than a 
smuggler — a being Eve only knew 
by name, and by some image which 
that name conjured up. A smuggler, 
pirate, bandit — all three answered to an 
ancient, black-framed picture hanging up 
at home, in which a petticoated figure, 
with a dark, beringleted face, stood 
flourishing a pistol in one hand and a 
cutlass in the other, while in the sash 
round his waist he displayed every other 


impossible kind of weapon. Surely her 
uncle could be in no way like that, for such 
men were always brutal, bloodthirsty ; 
and she, so unused to men at all, what 
would become of her ? amons: a lawless 
crew, perhaps, whose drunken orgies might 
end in quarrels, violence, murder 

* Ah !' and the terrified scream she gave 
sent Joan flying back from the few yards 
in advance to see Eve shrinking timidly 
away from a young fellow who had run up 
behind and thrown his arm round her 

' Why, for all the world, 'tis Adam !' ex- 
claimed Joan, receiving a smacking kiss 
from the offender, who was laughing 
heartily at the fright he had occasioned. 
' Why, Eve, what a turn you give me, 
to be sure ! Here, Adam, this is cousin 
Eve. Come here and shake hands with 

VOL. I. 12 

1 78 ADAM AND E VE. 

un, Eve. Where's uncle ? is he ashore yet ? 
We've bin watchin' of 'ee comin' in. Why, 
Eve, you'm all of a trimble ! Only do 'ee feel 
her hand ; she's shakin' all over like a leaf.' 

^ 'Twill pass in a minute,' said Eve, 
vexed that she had betrayed her nervous- 
ness ; ' 1 was thinking, that was the 

* I'm sure I never meant to frighten 
you,' said Adam, who, now that the group 
of bystanders had moved on, began offer- 
ing an apology ; ' I took her for one o' the 
maidens here, or I shouldn't ha' made so 

' Oh, you'll forgive him, won't ye. Eve f 

' I hope so,' said Adam ; ' 'twon't do to 
begin our acquaintance with a quarrel, 
will it \ And I haven't told ye that we're 
glad to see ye, or anything yet/ he added, 
seeing that Joan had hastened on, leaving 


them together, ' though there's not much 
need for sayin' what I hope you know 
already. When did you come, then. Cousin 
Eve, eh V 

' Yesterday/ 

' Oh ! you didn't get in before yesterday ? 
and you came in the Mary Jane with Isaac 
Triggs V 


Eve had not sufficiently recovered her- 
self to give more than a direct answer, 
and as she still felt dreadfully annoyed at 
her silly behaviour, she had not raised her 
eyes, and so could not see the interest with 
which her companion was regarding her ; 
in fact, she was hardly attending to what 
he said, so anxious w^as she to find the 
exact words in which to frame the apology 
she, in her turn, was bent on making. 
There was no further time for deliberation, 


1 80 ADAM AND E VE. 

for already Adam had pushed open the 
door, and then, as he turned, Eve got 
out : 

'You mustn't think I'm very silly, 
cousin, because I seem so to-night ; but I 
ain't accustomed ' and she hesitated. 

' To have a young man's arm around 
your waist '?' he said slyly. 

' That wasn't what I v/as going to say ; 
though, as far as that goes, nobody ever 
did that to me before.' 

' Is that true X he laughed. Then he 
called out, ' Here, Joan, bring a candle. 
Cousin Eve and I want to see each 
other ; we don't know what we're like to 
look at yet.' 

' In a minute,' answered Joan, appearing 
in less than that time with a candle in her 
hand ; * there, if you'm in a hurry, I'll be 
candlestick,' and she put herself between 


the two, holdino' the hHit above her head. 
* Now, how d'3^e find yourselves, good 
people, eh ? so good-looking, or better than 
you thought ?' 

' Ah ! that's not for you to know, Mrs. 
Pert,' laughed Adam ; ' but stay, we've 
got to kiss the candlestick, haven't 
we ?' 

' That's as you please,' said Joan, hold- 
ing up her face to Eve, who was bending 
down to fulfil the request when Adam 
caught hold of her, saying : 

' Come, come, 'tis my turn first ; it's 
hard if a cousin can't have a kiss.' 

But Eve had drawn herself back with a 
resolute movement, as she said : 

' I don't like being kissed by men ; 'tisn't 
what I've been used to.' 

.'Well, but he's your cousin,' put in 
Joan ; ' a cousin ain't like another man ; 

1 82 ADAM AND E VE. 

though there's no great harm in anybody, 
so far as I see.' 

But Adam turned away, saying : 

' Let be, Joan ; I'm not one to force my- 
self where I'm not wanted.' 

Fortunately, before any awkwardness 
could arise from this slight misunderstand- 
ing, a diversion was caused by the entrance 
of Uncle Zebedee, whose genial, good- 
tempered face beamed as he took in the 
comfortable room and family group. 

' Well, Joan,' he said, as Joan ran for- 
ward to meet him, ' and who's this ? not 
poor Andrew's little maid, to be sure I 
"Why, I'm glad to give 'ee welcome, my 
dear. How be 'ee % when did 'ee come ? 
Has her bin good to 'ee, eh ? gived 'ee 
plenty to ate and drink. I'll into her if she 
ha'n't, the wench !' and he pulled Joan 
lovingly towards him, holding back Eve 


with the other hand so that he might 
take a critical survey of her. ^ I say, 
Joan, what do 'ee say ? 'tis a purty bit o' 
goods, ain't it ?' 

Joan nodded assent. 

' Why, who's her Hke, eh % not her poor 
father — no, but somebody I've know'd. 
"Why, I'll tell 'ee — my sister Avice that was 
drownded saving another maid's life, that's 
who 'tis. Well, now I never ! to think o' 
Andrew's maid bein like she ! Well, she 
was a reglar pictur, she war, and so good 
as she war handsome.' 

* That shows us both comes o' one 
family,' said Joan, rubbing her rosy cheek 
against the old man's weather-stained 

' Not a bit of it,' he laughed ; * but I'll 
tell 'ee what, she's got a touch of our Adam 
here, so well as bein' both named together, 


too. My feyther, poor ole chap, lie couldn't 
abide his name hisself noways, but us two 
lads, Andrew and me, us allays swor'd 
that our childern, whether boys or maids, 
'cordin as they com'd fust, should be 
Adams and Eves, and us kept our words, 
the both of us, ye see. Here, Adam I 
he called, ' come hither, lad, and stand up 
beside thy cousin. I want to take measure 
of 'ee together, side by side.' 

But Adam, though he must have heard^ 
neither answered nor came in ; and after 
waiting for a few minutes, his father, by 
way of apology, premised to Eve that 
he had gone up to ^ titivate a bit ; ' while, 
jerking his finger over his shoulder, he 
asked Joan, in a stage aside, ^ If the wind 
had shifted anyways contrary.' 

Joan shook her head, answering in a low 
voice that it would be all right, and she 


would run out and hasten in the supper ; 
and some ten minutes later, while Eve 
was detailino^ to her uncle some of the 
events of her past life — how her mother and 
she had lived, and how they had managed 
to support themselves — Adam reappeared, 
and Uncle Zebedee, pointing to a seat 
near, endeavoured to include him in the 
conversation ; but whether Eve's past 
history had no interest for her cousin, or 
whether he had not quite overlooked her 
small rebuff, she could not decide. At any 
rate, he seemed to be much more amused 
by teasing Joan, and as Joan was by no 
means unwilling to return his banter while 
she moved about and in and out the room, 
the two carried on a very smart fire of 
rough joking, which gradually began to in- 
terest Uncle Zebedee, so that he left off 
talking to listen ; and very soon Eve 


found herself at liberty to indulge her 
hitherto restrained curiosity, and take a 
critical survey of Adam, who lounged on a 
chest opposite, with his whole attention so 
apparently engrossed by Joan, as to render 
it doubtful whether the very existence of 
such a person as Eve had not entirely 
escaped his recollection. 

Certainly, Adam was a man externally 
fitted to catch the fancy of most women, 
and nettled as Eve was by his seeming 
indifference to herself, she tried in vain 
to discover some fault of person to which 
she could take objection ; but it was of 
no use battling with the satisfaction her 
eyes had in resting on such perfection, 
heightened by the gratifying knowledge 
that between them an evident likeness ex- 
isted. Adam had the same fair skin, which 
exposure had tanned but could not redden ; 


his hair, although of a warmer tint, was of 
a shade similar to her own ; his eyes were 
gre}^ his brows and lashes dark. 

Absorbed in trying to compare each 
separate feature, Eve seemed lost in 
the intensity of her gaze, so that when — 
Adam suddenly looking round — their eyes 
met (during one of those lapses for which 
Time has no measurement) Eve sat 
fascinated and unable to withdraw her 
gaze. A kindred feeling had apparently 
overcome Adam too, for — the spell broken 
— he jumped up and, with something be- 
tween a shake and a shiver, walked abruptly 
to the far end of the room. 

* Here, Adam,' called out Joan, who 
had stepped into the outer kitchen, ' don't 
'ee go out now, like a dear. I'm just 
takin' the things up ; supper won't be a 
minute afore it's in, and if it's put back 


now 'twill all be samsawed and not worth 

And, to strengthen her entreaty, she 
hastened in and set on the table a sub- 
stantial, smoking-hot pie. 

' Why, wherever now has Eve got 
to ?' she exclaimed, looking round the 
room. ^ I left her sittin' there not a 
minute agone/ 

' Eh ? what ? who's gone ?' exclaimed 
Uncle Zebedee, roused from a cat's sleep 
in which, with a sailor-like adaptation of 
opportunity, he was always able to occupy 
any spare five minutes. 

^ I think she ran upstairs,' said Adam ; 
'here, I'll call her,' he added, intercepting 
Joan as she moved towards the door, 
which, from the innermost portion of the 
room, led to the upper part of the house. 
' Cousin Eve !' he called out, * Cousin 


Eve ! supper's waitin', but we can't begin 
till you come down.' 

' Iss, and bear a hand like a good maid/ 
chimed in Uncle Zebedee, ' for we haven't 
had nothin' to spake of to clane our teeth 
'pon this last forty-eight hours or so ; and I 
for one am pretty sharp set, I can tell 'ee.' 

This appeal being irresistible, Eve 
hastened down, to find Adam standing so 
that, when she put her hand on the door 
handle, he, under the pretence of opening 
it to a wider convenience, put his hand 
over hers, leaving Eve in doubt 
whether the unnecessary pressure Avas the 
result of accident or an attempt at reconci- 
liation. One thing was evident, Adam was 
bent on thoroughly doing the honours of 
the table ; he made a point of assisting 
Eve himself; he consulted her preference, 
and offered the various things to her, 


attentions which Eve, as a stranger and a 
guest^ thought herself, from the son of the 
house, perfectly entitled to, but which 
Joan viewed with amazement, not liking, 
as it was Adam, to interfere, but feeling 
confident that Eve must be very embar- 
rassed by a politeness not at all current 
in Polperro, where the fashion w^as for the 
men to eat and drink, and the women to 
sit by and attend upon them. 

But Adam was often opposed to general 
usage, and any deviation was leniently 
accepted by his friends as the result of his 
having been schooled at Jersey— a circum- 
stance that Joan considered he was now bent 
upon showing off, and noting that, do or 
say what he might, Eve would not raise 
her eyes, she pitied her confusion, and 
good-naturedly tried to come to her rescue 
by endeavouring to start some conversation. 


' Did 'ee try to reason with Jerrem, 
Adam V she asked, reverting to a portion 
of their previous talk. 

' Reason !' he answered pettishly, ' what 
good is there in anybody reasoning with 

* Awh, but he'll always listen to a soft 
word,' said Joan, pleadingly ; ' you can lead 
Jerrem anyways by kindness.' 

' Pity you weren't there, then, to manage 
him,' said Adam, in not the most pleasant 
tone of voice. 

^ Well, I wish you had bin there, Joan,' 
said Uncle Zebedee, decisively, ' for I ain't 
half well plased at the boy bein' left be- 
hind ; he'll be gettin' into some mischief 
that 'twon't be so aisy to free un from. I'd 
rayther be half have spoke to un sharp 
mysel', he heays minds anythin' I says to 
un, he does.' 

1 92 ADAM AND E VE. 

* 'Tis a pity then you've held your tongue 
so long,' said Adam, whose face began to 
betray signs of rising displeasure. ' I only 
know this, that over and over again 
you've said that you wouldn't run the risk 
of bein' kept waitin' about when he knew 
the time for startin'. Why, no later than 
the last run you said that if it happened 
agen you'd go without him.' 

' Iss, iss — 'tis true I said so,' said the old 
man, querulously ; * but he knaw'd I didn't 
mane it. How should I, when I've bin a 
youngster mysel', and all of us to Madam 
Perrot's, dancin' and fiddlin' away like mad ? 
"Why, little chap as I be,' he added, look- 
ing round at the two girls with becoming 
pride, ''t 'as taken so many as six t' hold me; 
and when they've a-gotten me to the boat 
they've had to thraw me into the watter 
till I've bin a' but drownded 'fore they 


could knack a bit o' sense into me. But 
what of it all ? why, I be none the warse 
for matter o' that, I hopes/ 

Adam felt his temper waxing hot within 
him, and having no wish that any further 
display of it should be then manifested, he 
rose up from the table, saying it was time 
he ran down to the boat aofain : and old 
Zebedee, warned by an expressive frown 
from Joan, swallowed down the remainder 
of his reminiscences, and kept a discreet 
silence until the retreating footsteps of his 
son assured him that he could relieve him- 
self without fear of censure. 

* 'Tis along of his bein' a scholard, I 
s'pose r he exclaimed, with the air of one 
seeking to solve a perplexity, ' but he's 
that agen anybody bein' the warse o' a drap 
o' liquor as niver was.' 

' Jerrem's one that's too easily led astray,' 

VOL. I. 13 


said Joan, by way of explaining to Eve 
the bearings of the case, ' and, once away, 
he forgets all but what's goin on around 
un ; and that don't do, ye know, 'cos when 
he's bin told that they'm to start at a cer- 
tain time he ought to be there so well as the 
rest, 'specially as he knaws what Adam 

' Iss, and that's the whole rights of it,' 
returned Zebedee, with a conclusive nod ; 
^ Maister Adam goes spakin' up about last 
time. ^' And mind, we ain't agoin' to wait 
for no wan," ' — and the imitation of his son's 
voice conveyed the annoyance the words 
had probably given — ' and the boy's blid 
was got up. 'Tis more than strange that 
they two, brought up like brothers, can't 
never steer wan course. I'd rayther than 
twenty pound that this hadn't happened/ 
he added, after a pause. 

ADAM AND E VE. 1 95 

' But how corned 'ee to go when you 
knawed he wasn't there X asked Joan. 

' I never knawed he warn't there/ re- 
pUed the okl man. ' I can't think how 
'twas,' he said, scratching his head in the 
effort to assist his memory ; 'I'd a bin up 
to Reinolds's, takin' a drap wi' wan or two, 
and, somehow, I don't mind about nawthin 
much more, till us was well past the 
Spikles ; and then, after a time, I axed for 
the lad, and out it all comes.' 

* And what did 'ee say 1' said Joan. 

' Wa-al, what could I say ? no thin' that 
'ud fetch un back then. 'Sides, Adam kept 
flingin' it at me how that I'd a said las' 
time I waidn't wait agen. But what if I 
did ? I knawed, and he knawed, and Jerrem 
knawed, 'twas nawthin more than talk. 
Moroover which, T made sure he'd ha' 
come with Zeke Johns in the Stamp and 



Go. But no, they hadn't a laid eyes on 
un, though they started a good bit after 

' He's sure to get on all right, I s'pose V 
said Eve, questioningly. 

* Awh, he can get on fast enough if he's 
a minded to. 'Tain't that I'm thinkin' on, 'tis 
the bad blid a set brewin' 'twixt the two of 
'em. If I only knawed how, I'd send un 
a bit o' my mind in a letter,' he added, 
looking at Joan. 

' Wa-al, who could us get to do it, then ? 
There's Jan Curtis,' she said reflectively, 
^ only he's to Looe ; and there's Sammy 
Tucker — but Lord ! 'twould be all over the 
place, and no holding mother anyways; she'd 
be certain to let on to Adam.' 

' It mustn't come to Adam's ears,' said 
Zebedee, decisively. ' Can't 'ee think o' 
nobody else scholard enuf 1' 


^ If it's nothing but a letter, I can write, 
Uncle Zebedee,' said Eve rather shyly, 
and not quite clear ^Yhether Joan did or 
did not possess the like accomplish- 

' Can 'ee thouofh !' exclaimed Uncle 
Zebedee, facing round to get a better view 
of this prodigy ; while Joan, with a mixture 
of amazement and admiration, said : 

' Not for sure ? Well I niver ! And 
you'll do it too, won't 'ee V 

' With all my heart, if uncle will tell me 
what to say.' 

' But mind, not a word before Adam, 
Eve,' said Joan, hastily ; * 'cos, if he's 
minded, he can write a hand like copper- 

' And 'ee thinks two of a trade wouldn't 
aoree, is that it V lauorhed Zebedee. 

Joan shook her head. 


' Never you mind/ she said, ' but only 
wait till next Valentine's day's a come^ and 
won't us two have a rig with somebody 
that shall be nameless !' 

' Only hark to her !' chuckled old Zebedee, 
answering Joan's significant look by the 
most appreciative wink. ^ Ah ! but her's 
a good-hearted maid/ he said, addressing 
Eve ; ' and/ he added, with a confidential 
application of his hand to his mouth, * if 
but they as shall be nameless would 
but voo her through my eyes, her should 
curl up her hair on her weddin' night in 
five-pound notes, as her blessed aunt, my 
poor missis, did afore her, dear sawL' 


S soon as the supper was cleared 
away, Joan began to set on the 
table glasses, pipes, and spirits. 
' Uncle's sure to bring two or three back 
with un,' she said ; ' and if all's ready 
there'll be no need for Ave to hurry back.' 
Eve gave a questiomng look. 
' Why, us is goin' down 'long to see 
what's up,' said Joan. * There's sure to be 
doin's somewheres or 'nother. Besides, 
you haven't sin none o' the chaps as yet ; 


and as we don't mean to lose 'ee now us 
have got 'ee, the sooner that's done the 

' Isn't it rather late ?' asked Eve, smil- 
ing at Joan's insinuations. 

' Late ! laws no ; 'tis only just gone 
eight, and the moon's risiu' as bright as 
day. Get alongs, like a dear, and fetch 
down your cloak. Mine's here to 


Eve offered no more opposition. She 

had no objection to a stroll, and deter- 
mined in her own mind that she would 
try and beguile Joan into extending their 
ramble as far as the cliff-side. 

She came downstairs to find Joan 
already standing in the street chatting 
to a group of girls who, like herself, 
were out seeking for amusement. 

^ Here she is 1' said Joan, intimating by 


her tone that the former conversation liad 
related to Eve. Whereupon several of 
Joan's more hnmediate intimates came 
forward and shook the new-comer by the 
hand, while others murmured something 
polite about ' bein' very glad to make her 
acquaintance ;' and together they all set off 
in a friendly fashion, exchanging words 
wdth everybody they met or passed, and 
addressing so many of them as uncle this 
or aunt that, that Eve could not refrain 
from asking if she was related to any of 

' Iss, to all of 'em,' laughed one of the 
girls, Ann Lisbeth Johns by name. 
* Why, didn't 'ee know^ us was all aunts 
and cousins here ? You'd best be careful, 
I can tell 'ee, for you'm fallen 'mong 
a resr'lar nest o' kindred.' 

' I'm very glad to hear it,' said Eve 


politely. ' I hope I may like those I don't 
know as well as those I do ;' and she gave 
a squeeze to Joan's arm, through which 
her own was threaded. 

'Ain't her got purty ways ?' said one of 
the girls admiringly to another. ' I 
wonder what Adam thinks of her ?' and, 
turning, she said to Joan, ' Has her seed 
Adam yet V 

Joan nodded her head. 

' Wall, what does he think of her ?' 

' I don't think he's had any opportunity 
of giving his opinion,' laughed Eve, re- 
lieving Joan from the necessity of answer- 
ing Avhat she thought must be an embar- 
rassing question. 

' Awh, bless 'ee,' returned the girl, ^ you 
don't want Adam to spake ; 'tis actions is 
louder than words with he, and no mis- 
take. Where's he to-night, then, Joan ? 


Zekiel told me they wasn't manin' to land 
Tore mornin'.' 

' Gone up to leave word to Killigarth, 
I reckon,' said Joan. ' There don't seem 
much goin' on here,' she added, looking 
round with a disappointed expression. 
* 'Tis a proper dead-and-alive set-out, 

' Oh no, Joan. Why, I was thinking 
what a change, and wondering wherever 
all the people had come from.' 

' Oh, 'tisn't nothin' now. You should 
see it sometimes — the place is like a fair. 
There's fiddlin' and dancin', and wrastlin', 
and all sorts goin' on ; you can't hear 
yourself spake for the noise. Now 
there ain't so much as a fight to look 

'The boats was in so late,' said Ann 
Lisbeth, ' there's scarce bin time to hear of 


it yet awhiles. 'Twill be better in an 
hour's time.' 

* Supposing we went for a walk till 
then/ put in Eve. 

' Would 'ee like it V asked Joan, anxious 
that Eve should be amused. 

' Far better than anything else .' 

^ All right, then ; we'll go. Ann Lisbeth, 
you'll come too ?' 

And joining arms, the three were about 
to turn towards the Talland side, when 
they were met by the old woman who had 
spoken to them in the morning. 

^ Hullo, Poll 1 Why, where be you 
bound for V said Joan. 

' Who be you ?' exclaimed the woman, in 
her gruff, harsh voice. ^What, Joan 
Hocken, is it V and seizing Joan by the 
shoulder, she peered into her face. ^Here,' 
she added, apparently satisfied, and letting 


go her hold. ' What's this they'm tellin' 
up 'bout Jerrem, as has bin left behind ? 
Tain't true that that Adam started with- 
out un a purpose, eh V 

' I don't know that 'twas a purpose/ 
said Joan. * But Jerrem knowed the time 
o' startin' same as t'others did ; and when the 
time was up, and no Jerrem, why, they comed 
without un. But 'tain't likely Adam 'd got 
more to do with it than others had.' 

*They that can swaller such words as 
they needn't fear that lies 'ull choke em/ 
returned Poll, contemptuously. ^ Why, 
now, you knaws better than to say if 
Adam hadn't bin so willed, either wan 
aboard the Lottery ha' durst to lave the 
boy behind. But 'twill come home to un 
yet ; he'll try on his masterful waj^s too 

often. And mind this, Joan Hocken ' 

But Joan had turned aside. 


' I don't want to hear no more o' your 
talk/ she said snappishly. ^ I b'lieve 
you've bin drinkin' ; that's what 'tis.' 

'Where to, then?' retorted old Poll, 
fiercely. ' Who's to bring a poor ole sawl 
like me a drap o' liquor, 'ceptin' tis Jerrem? 
and he left behind, what promised that this 
time I should ha' tay and brandy too, and 
was a-bringing it, like he allays does.' 

' Oh, well, I dare say Adam '11 find 
somethin' for 'ee,' said Joan. 

^ Sommut for me !' exclaimed Poll ; 
* curses and oaths, that's all I ever gets 
from he. Lord ! but I pays un they back 
agen,' she added, brightening up at the 
recollection of her powers. ' I can sarce 
so well as ever he can. Drinkin', is it, 
I've bin X and her voice chano-ed into a 
whine. ' Wait till you'm up seventy-four, 
Joan Hocken, and see then if you hain't 


glad o' a mouthful o' sperrits to keep life 
in yer insides ; but want T may 'fore any 
but Jerrem 'ud think to trate me ; and he 
a left, too !' 

^ There, come long, do !' exclaimed the 
impetuous Joan. * Now, what '11 'ee have % 
I'll stand treat for it, so say the word ; 
what's it to be ?' 

*Why, now, will 'ee, sure 'nuff ? Awh, but 
you'm a dear sawl, Joan Hocken, that you 
be ; and you shall have a baw so handsome 
as he's lucky, and so I tell 'ee/ And 
talking as she went, she turned a little to 
the right, leading the way towards a small 
public-house, with a hanging- board an- 
nouncing it to be the sign of the Three 
Pilchards, which was lighted up in certain 
anticipation of an increased run of busi- 

* Now, don't 'ee hinder we,' exclaimed 


Poll, in remonstrance to some men 
gathered near, one of whom laid familiarly 
hold of Ann Lisbeth. ^ Us is a-goin' in 
here to have a drap o' drink to- 

' One word for us and two for herself,' 
laughed Joan. ^ There, get along in and 
have what you're a mind to, Poll. I'm 
goin' to stand treat,' she said, in explana- 

^ Noa, I dawn't like that w^ay o' doin' it 
at all,' said Poll, trying to expostulate by 
her gestures more than her words. ' Waal, 
woan't wan of 'ee come ? You come, my 
dear,' she said, catching hold of Eve. 
* Iss noAv, do 'ee, 'cos I knawed yer 

' No, no,' said Joan, decisively ; ' let Eve 
be. We'se goin' for a walk, and 'twill be 
too late if we stop. Besides, you ain't in no 


hurry — stop, to be sure, and you'll get 
sometliin' more gived to 'ee.' 

* Only hark to her,' exclaimed old Poll, 
well pleased at the cheering prospect. 
'Awh, 'tis a thousand pities I bain't a 
ban'som' young sailor chap, I'd see if Joan 
Hocken should go begging for a husban' ; 
but Lord, nowadays men's such a poor lot, 
with no more sperrit in 'em than a Porty- 
gee. I'm main glad I had my time afore 
any sich was born.' 

This last speech set them all laughing, 
in the midst of which the girls turned to 
cross the bridge, so as to get by the 
Warren to the cliff. As they passed by 
the houses they received several invitations 
to 'step in a bit,' to all of which Joan 
answered, ' later on they would, but now 
they were goin' for a little walk.' 

' There's a goodish lot gone by,' said one 
VOL. I. 14 


woman, who was standing at her door ; ' I 
don't know whether 'tis wrastUn' or fightin' 
they'm up to, sommat or 'nother's goin' on 
there ; anyways Kawes Chmo's in it.' 

' Oh, my dear hfe ! here, Joan, let's come 
on !' exclaimed Ann Lisbeth, who took a 
very lively interest in the movements of 
Mr. Kawes Climo. 

' But if it's a fight,' said Eve, ' hadn't we 
best go back f 

' Why for, then ? So long as they fights 
fair I'd so soon see 'em fight as wrastle, 
wouldn't you, Joan ?' 

^ Depends 'pon who 'tis,' said Joan, philo- 
sophically. ''Tain't no fight. Eve/ she 
continued ; ^ and wrastlin's only play, you 

Thus encouraged, Eve proceeded on 
towards a crowd which they now caught 
sight of, assembled together on a small flat 


space of ground not far off from the build- 

The moon ^vas at its full, and its light 
made all around easily discerned. Joan 
first ducked her body to try and get a peep 
between the taller people's legs, then she 
gave a jump to see if she could catch a 
glimpse of anything over their heads ; and 
both these endeavours proving futile, she 
announced it as her opinion tliat if they 
didn't try and elbow in they might as well 
have stayed at home. 

Ann Lisbeth was by no means loth to 
use the necessary exertions, and the three 
soon found themselves — in considerable 
advance of the outer circle — pausing to 
take breath before they attempted a further 
passage of arms with a formidable-looking 
opponent in the shape of a thick sturdy 
girl standing in front of them. 



* Who's t'other one V asked Joan. 

' A Looe chap,' returned the gh'l ; * I 
ha'n't a heerd what he's called, but he 
might so well ha' stopped home, he's a bin 
thrawed twice afore, and now all the sense 
is knacked out of 'im, and he hes bleedin' 
like a bullock.' 

' Oh dear !' cried Eve, but the exclama- 
tion was quite lost on her two compan- 
ions, w^hose fresh- whetted cariosity urged 
them to more vigorous efforts ; so that 
while they pressed forward Eve found little 
difficulty in slipping her arms from under 
theirs, and turning her exertions in an 
opposite direction, she soon found herself 
outside again, and free to follow her own 

She did not wish to go back with- 
out Joan, and it was not pleasant to 
stand loitering on the outskirts of a crowd, 


SO she determined to walk a little distance 
on alons: the clitF. 

A knot of men, sitting and standing 
ahout a rough seat hollowed in the rock, 
determined her upon taking the lower path, 
and, without looking in their direction, she 
Avalked on, her pace gradually slackening 
as she got beyond fear of observation. 

How calm and still the water looked ! 
Eve was just beginning to drink of the 
fulness of this new phase of its beauty, 
when a voice behind her said : 

' Cousin Eve, is that you V 

' Oh, Cousin Adam !' and her tone and 
face showed that his presence was by no 
means unwelcome. 

'Why, how is it you're all by yourself? 
Where's Joan got to that you're alone ?' 

' Oh, she's not very far ofi*. We were 
both together till just this minute. There's 


a fight or something goin' on, and she's 
just stopped to look at it. Somebody said 
one of them was bleeding, and that was 
enough for me. I didn't wait to see any 

Adam laughed. 

^ Why, you're never such a coward as to 
be afraid of a drop of blood V he said. 
'Not you!' 

' Indeed, but T am. If anybody but 
cuts their finger I feel faint.' 

' That's nice stuff to make a sailor's wife 
out of,' said Adam. 

' I'm not going to be a sailor's wife,' re- 
turned Eve, promptly. 

' Oh, indeed ! how do you know that ? 
I s'pose some of your fine London chaps 
have stolen a march upon us. Never 
mind ; we'll manage to give 'em the go-by. 
All's fair in love and war, you know.' 


* I don't iu the least know what you 
mean,' said Eve, trying to assume a very 
indifferent tone. ' But I've no doubt Joan 
will be looking for me by this time, so I'd 
best 2:0 back.' 

' I wouldn't advise you to,' said Adam, 
standing so that without pushing she could 
not well pass him. * 'T won't be over for a 
good half-hour yet, take my word for it ; 
and Joan won't come away till it's ended. 
There's plenty of time to walk to the end 
twice over before 3^ou'Jl catch sight of her ; 
that is, if you've a mind to go.' 

' Oh, I want to go very much,' replied 
Eve ; ' but there's no need for me to take 
you,' she added demurely. ' I don't mind 
a bit going by myself 

* All right, then ; I'll go back,' said 

^ Yes. do.' 


But the words did not come out very 
readily, for Eve had certainly not expected 
to be taken literally. Before she had 
time to turn, Adam had burst into a laugh. 

^ So that's the way the London dandies 
treats the maidens, is it ? Well, they're a 
nice lot to choose from, instead of a good, 
honest sailor chap, who'd live and die for 
ye. Now, you take my advice, Cousin 
Eve : send him a mitten ; give him 
'^ turmits," as they say hereabouts, and 
leave it to me to find somebody else to 
stand in his shoes/ 

* You're very kind, upon my word,' said 
Eve, laughing ; ' more like a father than a 
cousin. But, thanking you all the same, 
Cousin Adam, when I am on the look-out, 
and that won't be yet awhile, I think I'd 
as soon choose for myself 

* All right ; so long as he isn't one of 


your counter-jumpin', tape-measurin' town 
fellows, I'll give my consent. But there, I 
needn't waste words ; for I'll bet a guinea, 
before twelve months is past you won't 
own you ever saw a man who wasn't a 
sailor. Why, if you'd bin a man, what 
would you have bin ? Why, a sailor of 
course, aboard the LotteTy, eh V 

' And get left behind, like the young 
man you wouldn't wait for at Guernsey,' 
said Eve. 

But the speech was not out of her mouth 
before she repented making it, for Adam's 
face clouded over. 

' I only served him right,' he said. 
' He's always up to some fool's game or 
'nother, which those, who ought to know 
better, look over, because he's hail fellow 
with every one he meets. That was all 
very well years ago, but it doesn't do now- 


adays ; and 'cos I see it, and try to keep 
things up a little, nothing's bad enough to 
say of me. 'Tisn't of much use tryin' to 
alter things while the old man's alive ; but 
if some of them don't learn to spell obeij 
before they die, I'm a Dutchman.' 

They had by this time reached the pro- 
jecting flat, and Eve, wishing to turn the 
conversation into a more pleasant channel, 
proposed that they should stand for a few 
minutes and look around them. 

^ Isn't it most lovely?' she said. 'I 
didn't think any place in the world could 
be so beautiful.' 

' Yes ; 'tis a pretty look-out enough 
now/ said Adam, ' with the moon shining 
on the sea like silver, and the stars 
twinklin' out all over the sky ; but, by the 
Lord ! it can put on an ugly face some- 
times. I've seen the sea dashing up over 


where we're standin' now, and the Avind 
drivin' dead on the land, and a surf no 
vessel could live in. Ah 1 'tis time to 
think o' sayin' your prayers then, for 
you're within hail of kingdom come, and 
no mistake.' 

' How dreadful !' said Eve, with a 
shudder, as she conjured up the scene. 
' It wouldn't be half as dreadful if the sea 
looked as it does now. I seem as if I 
shouldn't hardly mind jumping into it a bit.' 

* Shouldn't you V said Adam, throwing 
his arm round her waist and impelling her 
to the brink of the cliff; ' s pose we try it 
together V 

Eve gave a terrified cry ; and drawing 
her back, Adam said, in a soothing tone : 

* Why, what a little coward it is, to be 
sure ! Did you think I meant to throw you 
over V 


' Of course I didn't/ said Eve, recover- 
ing herself ; ^ it was only because I was 
startled. I shouldn't have minded else. 
I should like to look over.' 

* Come along, then ; I'll hold you tight 
enough ;' and he allowed Eve to bend for- 
ward so that she could see the gleaming 
surf as it rippled and lapped the rocks 

Eve gave a sigh of satisfaction. 
^ I feel,' she said, 'as if I could stand 
like this for ever.' 

' So do I,' said Adam. 

' I don't want to go indoors. ' 

' Neither do I.' 

* Nor to speak or say a word.' 

^No.' — 

' Only to look, and look, and look !' 
And her voice died away with the last 
word, and she seemed to abandon herself 


to the full enjoyment of the scene before 
her. It was one which might well absorb 
every thought. The vast unbroken mirror 
of waters, over which the moon flung the 
great mantle of her light — the fleecy 
floating clouds — the tall dark clifls, behind 
which lay shadowed the little town. At 
another time Eve would have had neither 
eyes, nor ears, nor thoughts for anything 
but this ; but now, overpowering these sur- 
roundinofs came a tremulous emotion from 
within ; a something new,which was sweeter 
than pleasure and keener than pain ; 
which made her long to speak, and yet 
dread to break the silence. Another 
moment passed ; the spell grew stronger. 
Then a warm breath stirred the air 
close to her cheek, and, with a sudden 
effort, Eve gave a dexterous movement 
which freed her from Adam's arm, and 


placed lier at a little distance from his 

' It's quite time we went back/ she said, 
in an altered voice. ^ Joan must have 
been wondering, for ever so long, where 
I've got to.' 

' The wonder is you ain't at the bottom 
of the cliff,' said Adam, surlily. ^ The 
next time you think o' being so nimble, 
I'd advise you to choose some safer place 
than here.' 


YE and Adam walked back in 
comparative silence. The fight 
was over ; the crowd dispersed ; 
and as neither of them displayed any wish 
to join the revelry which, on and about 
the quay, was now in full-swing, they took 
their way home by a different road. 

Eve was vexed and angry with herself — 
unduly so, she thought — for she could not 
help losing Joan, neither could she help 
Adam following her ; and as for the rest^ 


she did not know what else she could have 
done. It was all Adam's fault. She 
wished he would leave her to herself. 
She could see they should never agree, 
and the sooner he found out that she 
wasn't sfoino^ to let him take such free 
ways with her, the better friends they'd 

As for Adam, he looked the picture of 
ill-humour, and the expression on bis hand- 
some face was anything but a pleasant 
one ; and his thoughts, taking, as they did, 
the form of a volley of expletives, were 
the more bitter and lasting because he 
€0uld not give free vent and expression to 

The house reached, he pushed open the 
door, saying, as he let Eve pass in : 

' I told you Joan wouldn't put herself 
out. There she is.' 


And there, as he said, dimly discernible 
through a cloud of smoke, in the midst 
of several men, sat Joan, before her a glass 
of a smoking compound, a large bowl of 
which occupied the place of honour on the 

* Oh ! so you've come at last !' she said, 
as Eve entered. 

* Yes. Didn't you wonder what had 
become of me, Joan ? I was so afraid 
you'd be frightened to think where I'd got 

* Not I,' said Joan, recklessly ; * when 
I got out they told me where you was 
gone, and that Adam had gone after 

' Oh : then why didn't you come, too V 
said Eve, in an aggrieved tone ; ^ I hadn't 
gone but a very little way.' 

' 'Cos two's company and three's trum- 

VOL. I. 15 



pery, my dear ; ain't it, Adam ? You'd ha' 
told me so if she hadn't ; that's the best o' 
bein' cousins, you can speak your mind so 

'- There, Avhere be goin' to sot to, my 
dear ?' interrupted Uncle Zebedee, feeling, 
according to his expression, that there was 
a screw loose somewhere ; ^ here, bide a 
bits here,' and he pulled her down on his 
knee. ' Messmates,' he said^ * this is my 
poor brother Andrew's daughter, comed a' 
the ways fro' London to live wi' her old 
uncle, and keep that raskil Joan in order. 
What do 'ee say to drinkin' her good health 
and a welcome home to her, eh f 

Without replying, the company filled 
their glasses, and, one of them giving the 
signal by nodding his head towards Eve, 
the rest followed his example, took a good 
drink, and then, to signify their unqualified 


assent to a remark by their leader, that he 
wouldn't mmd ' a foo more o' her sort 
bein' shipped to this port,' rapped their 
pipe-stems vigorously on the table. 

' Now 'tis your turn to make a speech, 
said Uncle Zebedee. 

* Her wants to wet her whistle first,' 
said the w^eather-beaten old fellow nearest 
to her, judging Eve's hesitation by the 
own cause which alone could influence his 
loquacity. ^ Here, Joan, get a glass for 

' No, no, Joan, don't ! I'll ' 

' Take a drap out o' mine,' he interrupted 
gallantly, pushing his jorum of grog in 
front of her. ' Doan't fear to take a good 
pull. I'm a moderate man mysel' ; I never 
exceeds the wan glass.' 

* That's true,' replied a sour-faced man 
with one eye ; ' only, somehows, you 



manages not to see the bottom o' he while 
there's a drap standin' in the bottle.' 

' Then 'tis we won't go home till mornin* 
this time,' said Uncle Zebedee heartily, ' for 
there's lashin's more than's put 'pon table ; 
so at it with a will, my boys, for you may 
walk a deck-seam after a tub o' such stuff as 
this is. Come, Adam lad,' he added, turning 
to his son, ^ make a pitch somewheres -, 
can't 'ee find room for un beside o' you,, 
Joan ?' 

' No, I'd rather have his room than his 
company,' said Joan, getting up to fetch 
some more glasses ; then, catching Eve's 
rather wistful gaze following her, she 
selected one with bright-coloured flowers 
painted on it, saying, as she set it before her : 

' There, that putty one's for you !' 

Eve's face brightened at what was evi- 
dently intended as a peace-offering. She 


took the glass, expressing her admiration 
of it; and, having it in her hand, there was 
no further good in protesting against its 
beinof filled. 

* 'Tis quite a ladies' tipple, this/ said the 
visitor who was doing the honours of the 
punch-bowl. ' Here, Joan, my dear, 
hand over your glass agen. You've only 
had a thimbleful.' 

Joan did as she was desired, and then 
Eve's neio-hbour said : 


*' Come, we ha'n't a had your speech yet, 
you know.' 

' Oh ! I can't make a speech,' laughed 
Eve. * 1 — I can only say I'm very much 
obliged to everybody.' 

* Waal, that'll do,' said the old fellow, 
approvingly ; 'I'm not wan for many 
words myself, I likes a foo here and a foo 
there, turn and turn about ; give all a 


chance, and pass the grog round — that's 
what I calls behaviour in good company. 
Now then, Hsten to what the maid's got to 
say/ he said, bringing down his fist on the 
table, and thereby setting everything on it 
in a jingle, ^Zebedee's niece is a-goin to 

Thus signalled out for observation, there 
was nothing for it but to repeat her former 
words, and having got out : ' I feel very 
much obliged to everybody,' Eve turned 
her blushing face round to her uncle, un- 
aware that Adam was behind, and that he, 
as well as his father, could see her pretty 
air of shy embarrassment. 

^ Hear ! hear I Well said !' roared out old 
Zebedee, reassuringly, giving her cheek at 
the same time a hearty, sounding kiss 
while Adam exclaimed, with ill-suppressed 
irritation : 

ADAM AND E VE. 2 3 1 

* Why don't you let lier sit down like the 
rest, father ? — there's chairs enough for all, 
surely ;' and he pointed to a vacant chair 
next to Joan, of which, with a nod to 
Uncle Zebedee, Eve took possession 
leaving Adam to seat himself at a little 
distance off. 

Without further remark, Adam plunged 
into conversation with the guest who hap- 
pened to be his neighbour ; Eve entered 
into an explanation with Joan ; and the rest 
of the company returned to their grog and 
pipes, and the repetition of their oft-told 
tales of privateering, press-gang ad ventures, 
and escapes from French prisons. Eve's 
interest had just been aroused by one of 
these narratives, when Joan, noting that 
her glass remained untouched, pushed it 
significantly towards her. Eve waited for 
an instant, and then pushed it back again ; 


but Joan would not be denied, and thej 
were still engaged in this pantomime when 
Adam, who had apparently been watching 
them, said dictatorially : 

' Let be, Joan ! Why do you press, if 
she don't want to drink it ?' 

Thinking he Avas annoyed at her non- 
compliance, Eve said : 

' Yes ; I'm sure it's very good, but I'm 
not used to such things. I don't know 
that I ever tasted spirits in my life.' 

' Well, taste that, then,' said Adam. 

She shook her head. 

^ Do,' said Adam, entreatingly. ^ To 
oblige me, put your lips to it.' 

^ Oh, well, I don't mind doing that,' said 
Eve, raising the glass to her mouth. 

^ Now,' he said, turning it so as to drink 
from the same place, ' I'll finish it for you ;' 
but before he could carry out his intention. 


Joiiii, whose face had suddenly blazed up 
with colour, knocked the glass out of his 
hand, and before he had time to recover 
his surprise, her own and its contents were 
shyed to the other end of the room. 

* I say, what's the row^ there V exclaimed 
Uncle Zebedee. ' Why, Joan, what's come 
to 'ee maid, that ^^oure smashin' up the 
glasses ? 'tis reyther early for that sort o' 
game yet awhiles.' 

' Best to take a drap more,' said the dis- 
tributer of the punch. ' There's no coor 
like a hair o' the dog that bit 'ee.' 

^ 'Tisn't nothin' but a bit o' skylarkin', 
uncle,' said Joan, ashamed of her outburst 
of temper. ' You ain't offended, Eve, are 

* Xo, I'm not offended,' said Eve, who 
sat aghast and dumbfoundered at such 
reckless breakasre. 


' I haven't angered you, Adam, have I ? 
said poor Joan, humbly. 

' Certainly not,' said Adam^ coldly. ' If 
you haven't angered Eve, you haven't 
angered me. You've broke two glasses, 
that's all' 

* Oh, darn the glasses !' said Zebedee, 
who saw there was some antasfonism be- 
tween the two. ' You'm welcome to break 
all the glasses in the house, if it plases 'ee — 
only let's have pace and quietness, and 
sommut to drink out of 

' Suppose somebody gives us a song,' 
said Zekiel Johns. ' Here, Joan,' he 
added, by way of throwing oil on the 
troubled waters, ' come, strike up '^ Polly 
Oliver" — us ha'n't a had she for a brave 

Joan felt in little mood for singfinof, but 
after causing this temporary disturbance,. 


some amends for it was due from her ; so 
without more delay than was occasioned by 
the request that she would not begin until 
pipes and glasses were made ready for 
undisturbed enjoyment, she commenced. 
The tune, though not vmmusical, was 
somewhat monotonous — a defect com- 
pensated for by the dramatic pathos of 
the narrative, and Eve was soon com- 
pletely engrossed in the fortunes of the 
girl who, in order to follow her lover, had 
donned male attire. 

*Now Polly being sleepy, her hung down her head, 
And asked for a candle to light her to bed,' 

sang Joan, when open flew the door, and 
on its threshold stood a tall gaunt figure, 
whose sudden appearance seemed to strike 
consternation into all present. Glasses 
were overturned, pipes thrown down. Some 


of the men sprang to their feet — all was 
instant confusion. 

' What news, Jonathan V hastily ex- 
claimed Adam, who had advanced to meet 
the new-comer. ^ Where are ye come 
from V 

' Liskeard/ answered the man. ' I was 
'bliged to give 'em the double by comin' 
that ways. Word's passed along that you 
be looked for with a fine rin o' goods.' 

' H'm, I thought us was safe this time, 
anyhow,' exclaimed Zebedee. ' Now, how 
did they come to know that, I wonder T 

'But they can't tell that we're in yet, 
surely V said one of the men. 

' Noa ; they'm thinkin' you'll make the 
land sometime to-morrow. The cruiser's 
to get under weigh 'bout daybreak, and 
the sodgers is to come on here and be 
ready for 'ee ashore.' 


' Then there's no time to be lost,' said 
Adam, decisively. ' Wc must land as soon 
as we can, and after that make ourselves 

Some more talking ensued, during 
which hats were found, lanterns produced 
and trimmed, and then the two girls and 
Jonathan were left alone. 

' They ain't going to sea again, are 
they V Eve ventured to ask. 

* Not yet awhile,' said Joan ; ' they've 
got somethin' to do to the boats first. But 
you must go ofii* to your bed. Eve. You 
ain't used to sittin' up late.' 

' No ; let me keep you company, Joan. 
I'd rather do that than go to bed,' pleaded 

Joan hesitated. 

' I think best not this time,' she said. 
' I fancy uncle 'ud rather you was to bed 


when he comes back agen ; and Jonathan 
'11 be here, you know. You ain't gomg 
yet awhiles, I s'pose, Jonathan ? 

' Noa, not I. I wants sommat to 
ate, I does. Got any mate-pasties or 
that put by, Joan Hocken ? 'tis no good 
hidin' things frae me.' 

^ Here, you haven't spoke to my cousin 
yet ?' said Joan, laughing. 

'What, sheT said Jonathan, who had 
drawn a chair to the fire, over which he 
sat cowering. ' What's her called ? I've 
a seed she some where' s afore. I don't 
like her looks at all, I doesn't.' 

^ There, that ain't no way mannerly,' 
said Joan, intimating by a look towards 
Eve^ and a tap on her forehead, that 
Jonathan w^as weak in the head. 

' Has her got any money V he asked, 
suddenly turning round. 

jlDJJ/ AA-JD EVE. :>39 

' I don't know,' said Joan. ' You have 
though, haven't ye V 

' A bag full !' exclaimed Jonathan. 
' Go widen guineas I and half-guineas and 
crowns I' he added, with an unction that 
showed that the very mention of their 
names was a positive enjoyment to him. 

' No pound-notes for you, Jonathan, eh !' 
said Joan. 

' No, I b'lieve 'ee,' chuckled Jonathan. 
^ They dosn't dare to give me sich.' 

' Now you'm goin' to tell me where you 
keep 'em all to, this time V said Joan, 
trying by her banter to keep him quiet, 
until she and Eve had set the room a little 

Jonathan shook his head. 

' I shan't tell 'ee nothin', not while her's 
here,' he said, jerking his elbow in Eve's 
direction. ' Herd go and blab, and be the 


ruin o' us all, her would. Can't 'ee send 
her home, Joan V 

' Don't take no notice of un,' Joan said 
in an undertone. ' He ain't got his wits 
about un like me, so he says just what 
comes into his head. Ill soon stop his 
mouth, though ;' and she went into the 
kitchen and lifted down the best part of a 
large pie. ^ Now what else is there ?' she 
said reflectively, ' for when he sets to, that 
won't go far. His head can't stand drink — 
it drives un mad,' she added in explanation 
to Eve's look of amazement, ' so he makes 
it up with vittals ; and if he could ate the 
same meal twice over in every house in 
the village, he'd be welcome, for the good 
service he does us all.' 

Eve only waited until Jonathan's meal 
was spread before him, and then, yielding 
to a further entreaty from Joan, she rather 

ADAM AND E J 'E. 241 

reluctantly went oft* to bed ; half induced 
by Joan's assurance that she intended very 
soon to follow. 

' I shall only wait till they've had all 
they want/ she called out, ^and then I 
shall come too, Eve.' 

Eve determined that thouo-h she went 


to bed, she would not go to sleep, a resolu- 
tion which she kept for fully ten minutes 
after her head was on her pillow, and 
which she was not certain she had for 
more than a few moments broken when, 
some hours later, she started up to find 
Joan's place beside her still vacant. J 
must have been sleeping, she thought, and 
then, as consciousness returned, she be^mn 
to feel that, instead of a doze, her sleep had 
been one of some duration. She sat up 
and listened : not a sound could she hear. 
The room was dark, the house quite still. A 


feeling of undefined fright took possession 
of her. Surely Joan had not gone out ; 
they would never leave her in the house 
alone. What was to be done ? She had 
no light, and no means of getting one, for 
those were the days of tinder-boxes and 
brimstone matches, and with even these 
appliances, few, save the prudent house- 
wife, provided themselves against emer- 

Growing desperate, Eve slipjDed out of 
bed, and listened with sharpened attention. 
Not a sound save that which came from 
the clocks, whose measured tick, tick, 
seemed mocking the nervous thumping of 
her heart. 

Something must be done — she could not 
go back to bed again ; so, groping about, 
she found her gown, and then her 
cloak, and hastily throwing these on, she 


cautiously crept down the stairs to the 
door Avhich opened on the sitting-room. 
There was evidently a light, for its 
o'limmer came throuo^h the chinks of the 
door. Timidly she laid her fingers on the 
latch ; it lifted, but she pushed in vain. 
The door would not yield ; it was bolted on 
the outside. Pausing to recover this 
surprise. Eve braced up her trembling 
courage, and then she turned and re- 
mounted the stairs, her heart no longer 
fluttering, and most of her fears ousted 
from their place by a sudden determina- 
tion to find out the reason of this mystery. 
Leading from her bedroom was another 
door and a passage from which stairs led 
down to the kitchen below. Along by this 
way Eve crept. To her amazement the 
kitchen, though empty of people, was 
nearly filled with furniture, between the 

IG— 2 


various articles of which she stepped her 
way, and then catching full sight of the 
room beyond, she paused. Surely no ! 
that wasn't the place she had been sitting 
in % — bare and stripped of everything. 
Why the very walls were gone, and in 
their place, arranged one above another, 
stood rows of small barrels. The floor 
was strewed with ropes and tools, the fire 
was out, and candles flared in the wind 
which came in at the half-open hatch of 
the door. 

Eve stood bewildered, not knowing 
whether to go forward or back ; but 
another instant decided her, for in front 
of the hearthstone, close by where, on the 
previous night, she had sat, emerging from 
below, a head slowly appeared, and another 
glance showed her that the face was the 
face of Uncle Zebedee. Eve cauofht her 


breath. This then must be smuggUng, 
and ^vithout further thought she turned, 
fleAv up the stairs, jumped into bed, and 
hid her head under the clothes. 

With returning cahnness, however, came 
the recollection, that if Joan came up, the 
-dress and cloak would betray her ; so she got 
up and put them back into their place, and 
then again lay down to listen and wait — 
not long — before the noise assured her the 
furniture was being replaced. Then, after 
an interval, came a buzz of voices, but not 
until a faint glimmer of grey had crept 
into the room did Eve hear the bolt 
undone, footsteps ascending the stairs, and 
Joan coming stealthily in. Involuntarily 
Eve shut her eyes, nor though Joan 
seemed to have brought over a candle to 
look at her, did she open them, deter- 
mining that while Joan was engaged in 


undressing she would pretend to be 
aroused, and awaken. But tliere was no 
opportunity afforded for the carrying out 
of this deception, for Joan having satisfied 
herself concerning her companion, merely 
set down the candle, blew it out, and 
threw herself, dressed as she was, on the 


HE sun was streaming into the 
window Avhen Eve awoke with 
a sudden confused recollection 
of something having happened. She started 
to find Joan sitting on the edge of the 
bed, rubbing her half-open eyes. 

' Why, Joan/ she exclaimed, ^ whatever 
time can it be ? And do you know how 
you went to sleep last night ? You never 
undressed yourself 

'No,' said Joan, drowsily, 'I know I 


didn't. What with one thing and 'nother, 
I couldn't get the rids of 'em till ever so 
late, and then I was so tired I'd no heart 
to take my things off.' 

' Look at your nice gown/ said Eve, 
vexed that the pretty chintz should present 
such a bedraggled appearance. 

* Iss, I s'pects 'tis in a proper cram,' 
returned Joan ; * but there, I can't help 
it. I must put on something else, I 

' Oh, I'll soon iron it out for you,' said 
Eve ; ' so let's make haste and get our 
breakfast over. I s'pose uncle and Cousin 
Adam have gone ?' 

Joan by a nod of her head intimated 
that they had. 

* What, to Guernsey again V asked 

' To Guernsey ! no,' said Joan : ' not 


near so far. They'll be home again to- 
morrow, or maybe next day.' 

' But what made them go so sudden ?' 

' Well,' said Joan, ' I don't know that 
you'd be much the wiser if I was to tell 
"^ee, Eve ; still, I don't see how you're to 
bide here without some word bein said. 
Uncle was for trustin' 'ee altogether, only 
Adam wouldn't have it. He said 'twas 
enough for you that they was gone out 
pilotin'. Now you know, Eve, I'm 
measurin' you by my own bushel, and 
I know such talk wouldn't take me in, 
more partickler as I've got to ask 'ee to 
tell anybody that comes that you've never 
cast eyes on 'em.' 

*Adam must think I'm silly,' said 
Eve, indignantly. 

' I don't know what he thinks,' replied 
Joan. ' I only know I ain't goin' to follow 


out his biddin' without seein the reason 
for it, no more than anybody else's ; besides, 
there's nothin' that I see to hide from 'ee^ 
nor to be ashamed to tell 'ee of What 
uncle brings he buys and pays honest 
money for, and if there's a risk in bringin 
it, why he takes that risk ; and if that 
isn't havin a right to keep it if he can, 
why I don't know nothin' about it, that's 

' But what is it that he does bring X 
said Eve. 

^ Why, sperrits to be sure. 'Tis like this : 
they says, ^' Here, you must pay dooty." 
" No," uncle says, '^ I won't — I'll bring it 
dooty free." Well, he does so, and if he 
can land it safe, well and good ; 'tis his to 
sell or to drink, or to do what he like& 
with. But if the excise gets scent of it, 
down they come and tries to seize it all^ 


and if the}^ do seize it, 'tis gone, and so's 
the lives of any they catches with it. So 
no blame to 'em, if they'm took hard, when 
each man knows the bit o' hemp's ben 
growed to make the rope his neck's to 
swing by.' 

' Oh, Joan !' exclaimed Eve, ' not hung I 
you don't mean that they'd hang them !' 

* Iss, but they would. They hanged ole 
Israel J ago. ^Twas long afore any o' our 
times, but uncle minds it. His feyther — why 
your grandfeyther, then — was one o' they 
who went up to London with Israel's wife 
to try if they couldn't get un off; but 
'twasn't o' no good.' 

' What did his poor wife do ?' said Eve, 
sympathetically. ' Wasn't she in a dread- 
ful way X 

' Well, I don't know,' laughed Joan ; 
* they do say her stayed waitin outside 


the gaol-doors all night, and in the mornin', 
'stead o' biddin' un a last farewell, as they 
all thought her'd corned to do^ her pushes 
into his hand a red cotton handkercher. 
^' There," her says, '^ take thickee and gie 
me thuckee, for sure thee doesn't want a 
silk neckercher to be hanged in." ' 
' What a dreadful woman, Joan !' 
' No, her wasn't — her didn't leave no 
stone unturned to get un off ; but, as her 
said, her knew then 'twas no more good ; so 
what call was there to waste more than 
had bin 'pon un V 

' Well,' said Eve gravely, ^ I'd rather 
live on dry bread and water, Joan, than 
have any one get their living in such a way 
as that. Why, I should never know a 
minute's peace. Each time they went 
a,way I should never expect to see them 

ADAiV AND E VE. 25a 

* So you think,' laughed Joan, ' but 
you'll very soon get over that, and make 
as sure of their bein' back as if they was 
comin' by the mail-coach. Oh, it doesn't 
do to be fainty-hearted about anything ! 
What is to be will be, I say, so there's no 
need to run out to meet trouble on the 
road. But, remember,' she added, chang- 
ing her voice to a graver toiiO, ^ you've a 
part to act to-day. Eve ; and if the sodgers 
comes to search, you must carry on with 
them, as if there wasn't such a things as a. 
keg to be found for twenty miles around.' 

' But is there any hidden near here ?' 
asked Eve, determined to test how far 
Joan's confidence would extend. 

' Come 'long down wdth me,' said Joan, 
' and I'll show 'ee. Now, you see these 
walls,' she continued, after they had 
reached the sitting-room, which was re- 


arranged in the same order in which Eve 
had first seen it. ' Well, the sides here 
and there are hollow, and will open behind 
this,' and she pointed to a recess in which 
stood a chest. ' There's a hidin'-place, 
and there's another underneath the floor. 
They're all full o' liquor now, but when 
they'm empty again you shall see 'em. I'll 
get uncle to show 'em to 'ee, for it takes 
more than my strength to get 'em open.' 

Eve smiled. Turning, she took hold of 
Joan's hand. 

' No need for that,' she said. ' I've seen 
them already.' 

' You have !' exclaimed Joan. ^ Why, 
when ?' 

' Last night.' And Eve related her ad- 
ventures, and how in her fright she had 
had her curiosity satisfied. 

* Well, I never did !' said Joan, in amaze- 


menfc ; ' only to think now, if I hadn't told 
'ee, what a sly one you'd ha' took me for !' 

' No, I don't know that— but I am glad 
you trusted me, Joan. I don't think any- 
body need ever fear to do that.' 

' So I knew when I told 'ee,' said Joan, 
promptly ; ^ and though I listened to what 
Adam said, I made up my mind all the 
time to folio' out my own mind. Women 
knows one another a deal better than the 
men ever finds 'em out, and right they 
should to.' 

* T shan't forget Mr. Adam's opinion of 
me for one while,' said Eve, huffily. ' I 
am sure I ought to be very much obliged 
to him for thinking so ill of his own 

' I don't know that I ever saw un think 
quite so much of any one before,' answered 
Joan, looking wistfully at her. '■ Oh !' 


she exclaimed passionately, biting her 
lips, and drawing in her breath, ' I'd 
forgive anybody who'd make him mad in 
love, so that he'd no hold over hisself, but 
just showed what a fool he was^ whether 
one or twenty stood by.' 

' Hasn't he ever cared for anybody^ 
then f asked Eve. 

* Not he,' said Joan ; ' there ain't ne'er a 
one in Polperro good 'nuf for un. There's 
they you'll hear tell up, that Adam said 
this and told 'em the other ; but what if he 
did ? He hadn't got no manein' in it, and 
so they oft to know by this time.' 

' Then I don't think he has any right to 
act so/ said Eve, pleased to make a hole of 
the slightest flaw in Adam's conduct. ' I 
haven't much opinion of those who try to 
mislead others. Everybody ought to say 
what they mean, and mean what they say.* 


The earnestness with which this sentiment 
was deHvered seemed to amuse Joan, and, 
beginning to laugh, she said : 

' I shall set you to talk to Jerrem when 
he comes back. 'Tis he's the raskil with 
all the maidens 'bout liere ; and that minds 
me. Eve, 'bout that letter you said you'd 
write. Will 'ee do it some time to- 

' Yes, of course I will, if you'll tell me 
what uncle wants to say.' 

' Well, uncle thinks 'tis best it came 
from me like, warnin' un not to take no 
notice, 'cos nothin' more than a trick was 
meant, and sayin' he's not to stop loiterin 
there, but to come across back home to 
wance in anythin' he can get passage in. 
And,' she added, after a minute's reflection, 
' to soften it down a bit, you might say 
that we're all well — and that you'm here, 

VOL. I. 17 


and have wrote the letter. That'll do, won't 


' Capitally/ said Eve ; ^ the best way- 
will be for me to write out what you've 
said as I think, and then when it's done, 
read it out loud to you/ 

This plan meeting with Joan's approval, 
Eve sat down, and as soon as the necessary 
materials were supplied, commenced the 
epistle, which she worded as though it 
came from Joan. This pleased Joan 
mightily, and she stood leaning over Eve, 
watching her fold up the letter, and direct 
it to Jeremiah Christmas, at Louis 
Reinolds's, Guernsey. 

'Now you shall seal it yourself,' said 
Eve, when all else was completed. 

' Well then, I must look for my thimble,' 
said Joan, delighted that some portion of 
the performance was to be really her ow^n, 
* 'cos I haven't got no seal.' 


' Oh, but I have; said Eve ; ' I'll run 
and fetch it.' 

The seal was one which had hung on a 
watch that Eeuben May had taken in 
exchange. It was of little value, but the 
old French motto, Amour avec loiatdtey had 
struck Reuben, and he had begged Eve to 
accept it. 

The circumstance of its being Avanted 
brought the donor to Eve's mind, and as 
she turned over her small hoard of treasures, 
seeking it, her conscience smote her for her 
forofetfulness of her friend. Since the 
morning after her arrival she could not 
remember having cast a single thought in 
his direction. These were not the days of 
universal letter-writing, so that though Eve 
had promised to send Keuben a letter, and 
tell him how she found herself among her 
new relations, she did not intend, neither 



did he expect her, to write this until she 
was thoroughly settled down. Still, she 
had never thought fresh faces could have 
so completely driven him from her mind, 
and she was trying to find some excuse 
for her apparent heartlessness, when there 
came a sudden clatter of horses' hoofs. 

' Eve, they'm here ! the sodgers ! Come 
down !' called out Joan, hurriedly. 

Eve ran down with a scared face. 

^ Oh, Joan ! What am I to say ?' 

' Why, nothin' ; seem as indifferent as 
you can. I didn't talk about it a purpose, 
'cos you shouldn't go workin yourself up. 
Just seem to take it all off-hand, and as if 
you thought it like their impidence to 
come anigh the place ;' and the sound 
drawing close to, she caught up the towel 
she had a little time before laid down, and 
went on with her employment of washing 


the breaktast-thiiigs. Another minute, and 
the rap of something heavy sounded against 
tlie door. 

' Come in !' cried Joan. 

Kap, rap, rap ! sounded more vigorously. 

' Come in!' repeated Joan, in a louder tone. 

' Shan't you open the door V whispered 

Joan was going to shake her head, but 
just at this moment the hatch was flung 
open, and a man's voice said : 

' I don't know whether you want me to 
come mto your house horse and all, young 
woman ? taking it for granted by the voice 
that the speaker was a woman, and a young 

* I don't want neither you nor your 
hoss,' returned Joan ; ' so if you'm waitin' 
for a welcome from me, you'm both like to 
take root in the place where you be.' 


' Ah, I see; you know what we're after.' 

'Glad to hear I'm so sharp/ retorted 
Joan. '■ I s pose they've told 'ee 'twas a 
complaint that's catchin', that you'm all 
come peltin' down here alongs.' 

* We've come to catch somethinof that 
it's no use your hiding, Mrs. Pert/ laughed 
the man, a good-looking sergeant ; ' and 
we've a warrant to search the house in the 
King's name.' 

^'Tis very much to his Majesty's credit 
to be so curious about such humble folks,' 
said Joan, with a look of saucy defiance. 
'■ P'rhaps you'll ask un' to send word next 
time, then we'll be a little better prepared 
for 'ee.' 

' Oh !' laughed the man, 'we take things 
as we find them ; so pray, ladies, don't dis- 
turb yourselves on our account.' 

* Oh! are they going upstairs?' exclaimed 


Eve, starting up, as the party having entered 
and divided, one of them opened the door 
which led to her room. * My ! and I've 
left my workbox open, and the things all 

* Well, go up with 'em,' said Joan. ' I 
don't know what they'm here for, but I 
s'pose 'tain't to demand our scissors and 

' I should be very sorry to demand any- 
thing but a kiss from two such pretty 
lassies,' said the sergeant, who had re- 
mained in the room, bestowing a look of 
most undisguised admiration on Eve. 

' If you'll come upstairs with me,' he 
added, addressing her, * you'll see that 
nothing of yours shall be touched.' 

At a glance from Joan, Eve rose up to 
go ; and then remembering that the letter 
lay on the table, she reached back to take 


it up, but the soldier's quick eye had antici- 
pated her. 

'Allow me,' he said, catching it from 
under her hand, and reading the direction : 
* '^Jeremiah Christmas — Louis Keinold's 
— Guernsey." Oh ! so Jeremiah's at 
Guernsey is he \ I've got a friend going 
there, and he'll be proud to take this for 
you ;' and he made as if about to put the 
letter into his pocket. 

Eve held out her hand. 

'Give it back to me,' she said ; ' there's 
things in it,' she added shyly, ' I shouldn't 
care for anybody else to see.' 

' All the more reason why I should take 
care of it,' replied the young man ; only too 
well pleased to detain anything which 
might afford an opportunity of feeding the 
admiration the sight of Eve had filled him 


*No, but it isn't anything to do with 
anybody here.' 

' Why, is it a love-letter then ? and is 
Jeremiah your sweetheart ?' 

'Don't answer him, Eve,' exclaimed 
Joan, wdth pretended Indignation. * Let it 
go — I would ; 'twon't take 'ee much trouble 
to write another. Far rather that, than 
spend words on such as think they'm doin 
a fine mornin's work, to try and cower 
two lorn maidens whilst their men's all out 
o' the way.' 

' Oh no, they're not,' said the sergeant^ 
with a derisive smile. * We shall come upon 
the men presently, hiding under the straw,, 
or in the cupboards, or up the chimney, 
stored away with the kegs.' 

' Why, now, if somebody musn't ha' split 
'pon 'em,' said Joan, with a gesture of 
mock fear. 


' Here ! Dick, Bill, Tom !' she cried, * do 
'ee come 'long down ; the sodgers is sent 
to sweep the chimleys, my dears.' 

' I don't think you can be one of this 
place,' said the soldier, seeming to take no 
heed of Joan's banter. ^ You haven't got such 
a saucy tongue as most of the young women 
about here. Where might you come from?' 

* From London,' answered Eve, hoping 
to propitiate her interlocutor. ' I have 
only been here a week.' 

' And how many sweethearts have you 
got in that time ?' 

* Not any — there hasn't been any to 

have. Besides, if there had, I ' and 

hesitating, she cast a wistful glance at the 
letter, exclaiming, ' Oh, do give it to me !' 
with such an irresistible look of entreaty, 
that the sergeant held the letter towards 
lier, saying : 


' I don't know that I've any right to 
keep it, though before I give it up I must 
know the name of its pretty owner. What 
are you called V 

* My name is Eve.' 

* Eve,' he repeated dubiously. 

* Lss, and my name's Timersome,' called 
out Joan. ' Come, I knaw'd you was 
dyin' to knaw what I be called, only 
you'm too sheep-faced to ax the question.' 

* I'll tell you what it is — ' he began, but at 
that moment the soldier from upstairs came 
down, and, without waiting to conclude 
his speech, he turned hastily round, saying 
to Eve : ' Now I am going upstairs, so will 
you come and look after this work-box V 

Joan made a movement to let them 
pass, and Eve, taking the hint, followed 
the sergeant upstairs. The plan of search 
seemed to be arranofed so that while a cer- 


tain number of the party were told off for 
the actual hunting about, the remainder 
were left to guard the rooms and the 
various exits and entrances of the house. 
In order that each one should stand his 
chance of discovery and be free from all 
suspicion of bribery and connivance, the 
men constantly changed posts, and so it 
happened that all had to run the gauntlet 
of Miss Joan's cutting remarks and sharp. 
speeches ; but they had a soldierly weak- 
ness for a saucy tongue with a pretty face,, 
and took all she had so comj)laisantly, 
that a strict disciplinarian might have ac- 
cused them of a decided lack of zeal in the 
performance of their duty. For want of 
knowing what else they could do, they 
stamped on the boards of the floors,, 
opened the cupboards, pushed about the 
chairs and tables, made dives in and under 


the beds, and then, wondering if they were 
not there, where on earth they could be, 
began and did the very same thing over 
and over again. 

In their hearts they wished the runners 
rather than themselves were set after this 
sort of game. It was not the business 
they cared to be up to, and would only 
turn all the people against them ; which 
would not be so pleasant, seeing that not 
a landlord in Fowey, Looe, or Liskeard 
ever kept a score against a soldier. 
However, it would not do to be too 
lenient in their bearing ; so, to keep up 
appearances, each fresh comer knocked 
about the things, flung ojDen the doors, and 
made grand discoveries of heaps of straw 
which turned out to be stored apples, and 
mysterious barrels which proved only salted 


The same thing, with shght variations, 
was gone through in each house they 
entered ; until about one o'clock the sergeant 
decided it was of no use remaining longer. 
The goods were not to be found, the men 
had evidently not landed, and they 
had best get back to Fowey, and 
leave the revenue cruiser the glory of a 

Joan, with her elbows leaned on the 
door-hatch, stood watching the little party 
take their departure. 

^Wish 'ee well, if you'm goinV she called 
out saucily. 

' Oh, don't break your heart about us, 
young woman,' replied one of the men. 
' We shall be back ao^ain soon ; 'twon't be 
long before you have the pleasure of our 
company again, so keep yer spirits up.' 

^ Thank 'ee,' said Joan ; ^ what sperrits us 


has got, us generally try's to keep, though 
'tis a hard matter agen such a knowin' set 
as you sodgers be.' 

' Ah, you're a saucy wench,' laughed the 
sergeant, who had by this time ridden up. 
' I won't have nothing to say to you, but I 
must say good-bye to my pretty friend 
Eve. Where has she hidden herself to, eh V 
and stooping, he tried to catch sight of her ; 
but Eve only drew herself farther back, and 
the horse beginning to grow fidgctty, the 
young fellow had to ride away without 
having accomplished his wish. 

* There, let's run out and have a last look 
at 'em,' cried Joan. * Good riddance to 
bad rummage !' she called out. 

At the sound of her voice the soldier 
turned and flung back an answer ; but he 
had gone too far, the words could not 
reach them. 


'I can't tell what 'tis he's say in' of/ laughed 
Joan, her spirits rising as the sound of the 
retreating hoofs grew fainter. ' 'Twas some- 
thin' 'bout you I reckon, Eve,' she added, 
as they turned back into the house ; ^ and 
hadn't he got somethin held up in his 
hand a-dangling of? Whatever could it 
be, I wonder V 


OE, some time after the soldiers 
had taken their departure all was 
bustle and excitement. Neighbours 
ran in and out of each other's houses, telling 
and hearing of narrow escapes and many 
adventures. Friends laughed and joked 
over their thoughtlessness or their discre- 
tion ; here a stray keg had been dropped 
into the pig's bucket, there one caught up 
and i^opped under the baby in the cradle. 
Every one grew bolder, their usual reckless- 
VOL. I. 18 


ness gaining strength as they saw how little 
they had to fear from such a set of Johnnie 
Raws as the unlucky searchers were uni- 
versally voted. 

* Well, now 'tis most time to think o' 
dinner,' exclaimed Joan, sitting down 
almost exhausted with chattering and 

^ Oh, don't let's bother about getting 
dinner for us two,' said Eve. 

'All right,' replied Joan; 'we'll just 
take what's to hand, and then we'll put on 
our things and go up alongs. I want to 
see how Ann Lisbeth's folks have got on ; 
they'd got more stowed away than we 

' But don't they never find any of it V 
asked Eve. 

' Not in the houses, they never have. Back 
'longs in the summer there was a pretty 


good iind in the standiii' corn near Land- 
aviddy, but though they seized the kegs 
they couldn't tell who'd put 'em there/ 

Eve gave a shake of her head. ' I can't 
bring my mind to think it's exactly right/ 
she said. ' I wish uncle had nothino* 
to do with it. Couldn't he give it up if he 

liked r 

' He could, so far as money goes/ an- 
swered Joan ; 'but Lord! he never will, 
and I don't see neither why he should. 
Everybody must get their livin' one way or 
'nother ; and as he often says, 'tis child's 
play now compared to the war-time. Then 
you never did know when you'd see 'em 
again. What with bein' pressed into the 
king's ships, and taken off to French 
prisons, 'twas a terrible time of it.' 

' Has uncle ever been in prison ?' asked 



' I should think he had, and never 
expected to get out agen neither ; but 
they managed it, and he and three others 
broke out one night and got clear off. And 
'twould make your blood run cold to hear 
of all they went through — how they'd to 
lie all day long hid away in the ditches, 
half dead with hunger and cold ; then as 
soon as night came they'd push on, though 
where to^ they couldn't tell, only 'twas to- 
wards the sea. 

' But how ever did they live through V 
said Eve. ' Had they got any money with 
them r 

' Not a penny piece ; and if they had, 
'twouldn't ha' been o' any use, for they 
couldn't spake the tongue, and durstn't ha' 
gone anighst a shop, 'cos o' bein' knawed 
as prisoners o' war wherever they shawed 
their faces.' 


* How did they manage, then V 
' Well, UDcle says to this day 'tis more 
than he can tell ; but manage they did, and 
to reach the watter-side too ; and then they 
watched and watched, and at last a boat 
comes in sight, with a young French chap 
rowin' his sweetheart, and making for the 
shore. Well, they lands ; and then, by what 
uncle could make out, the maid persuaded 
the young man to see her a bit on her 
way home. So he looks round, and seeing 
the coast clear and nobody nigh, he hauls 
up the boat, stows away the oars, and off 
they goes ; and then 'twas oh, be joyful ! 
and no mistake, with th' other poor 
sawls. They didn't take long afore they 
was out o' their hiding-place, afloat, and 
clean out o' sight o' land and everybody 
'pon it ; and there they was tossin' about for 
I can't tell 'ee how long, and had given up 


all for lost, and made sure to the bottom of 
the say they must all go, when all to wance 
a vessel hove in sight, and after a bit picked 
'em up ; and somehow the capen — though 
'twas a French privateer — was got over to 
land 'em at Jersey, and from there they got 
on to Plymouth, and so comed back safe 
and sound after all.' 

^ Oh !' exclaimed Eve, ' after one escape 
like that, I'd never have gone to sea again 
— never !' 

' Lor' bless 'ee, iss, you would,' said 
Joan, decidedly. ' Why, only see what a 
muddlin life 'tis for a man to be stoppin' 
ashore week in and week out. He grows 
up a reg'lar cake, like that Sammy Tucker 
o' ourn, one side half baked and t'other for- 
got to be turned. Here, I say, Eve,' she 
exclaimed, with sudden emphasis, ' us'll have 
to go up and see mother agen, or else the 


place won't hold her. I wonder her hasn't 
bin down before now ; her's generally putty 
nhnble when any thin' o' this sort's goin' on.' 
' She doesn't approve of it at all, does 
she V said Eve. 

* So she says/ returned Joan. 
' But why should you think ^he says what 
she doesn't mean, Joan ?' 

' Because she don't act consistent — no 
more don't none of 'em up there. Mother's 
very high and mighty in her talk 'gainst 
smuggled goods and free-tradin', but she'd 
be in a nice quondary if she didn't get her 
tea cheap, and her sperrits for next to 
nothin' ; and after arguin' with me for the 
whole afternoon 'pon the sin and wicked- 
ness o' such ways, her'll say, '' Mind, Joan, 
the next lot o' chaney uncle gets I wants a 
match to my plates, an' you can set a bowl 
or so aside for me to look at." ' 


' What, does uncle bring china too?' said 

' Not exactly bring it/ said Joan, ' but he 
often gets it out o' the homeward-bound 
Injiamen and ships comin up Channel. 
They'm glad enough to get rids of it before 
the Custom-house gentry catches sight of 
it. There was some talk of their Qfettinof 
somethin' this time. I wish they may, 
then we should come in for pickin's.' 

Eve smiled. 

^ Why, what should I do with china ?' she 

^ Oh, but 'tisn't only chaney. There's 
chintz, and silk, and crape shawls, and lots 
of beautiful things. We'd find 'ee some- 
thin' you'd know what to do with : 'sides, 
you ain't always goin' to wear black, you 
know ; and some o' the chintzes is sweet and 
pretty, sure 'nuf ' 


' 1 shan't leave off my black for many a 
long day to come, if ever,' said Eve, gravely. 
* Why,' she added, smiling, ' I shouldn't 
know myself for the same in such finery as 
you wear, Joan.' 

* Oh. wait a bit,' said Joan, significantly. 
' Time 'nil tell. We shall see what we 
shall see.' 

* No,' returned Eve, resolutely ; ' you'll 
never see any difference in me. I ain't one 
to change. What you see me to-day you.'ll 
find me to-morrow.' 

The necessity for going into the kitchen 
to seek what remained for this substitute 
for dinner created a diversion in the con- 
versation. Some minutes elapsed, and 
then Joan reappeared, laden with the rem- 
nants of a squab-pie, some potted conger, 
and a couple of good-sized apple- 


* There, this '11 do/ she said, setting the 
dishes down on the table which Eve had 
made ready. ' I dcn't want much, do 
you V 

* No ; T could have gone till tea-time,' 
said Eve. 

' Oh, I think us 11 have our tea out 
some place, 'twill make a change ; and 
there's lots has asked me to bring 'ee.' 

This decided, they sat down to their 
meal, laughing and chatting with that 
unflagging loquacity which is natural to 
young girls with light hearts and un- 
clouded spirits. The events of the morn- 
ing were still naturally uppermost in their 
minds, and Joan commenced rallying Eve 
on the evident impression she had made 
on the young sergeant. 

* I never thought he'd ha' given 'ee the 
letter agen,' she said. ^ Oh my ! I did 


have a turn when I seed it in his 

* So had I !' said Eve. ' I made certain 
he was going to put it in his pocket.' 

' So he was, till you give him that inni- 
cent look;' and Joan tried, by casting 
down her eyes and raising them again, to 
give a comical imitation. ' Lord,' she 
laughed, ' I wish to goodness I could do 
it ! Wouldn't I gammon 'em all !' 

' But I didn't mean nothing particular/ 
protested Eve. ' I only looked up quite 

' Natural or no, it melted his heart, or 
w^hatever sodgers has got in the room of 

' I think you're all too hard on the poor 
soldiers,' said Eve. ' If they do come 
searching, 'tisn't on their own account ; 'tis 
only because it's their duty.' 


* Oh, well then, let 'em take then- duty 
some place else, laughed Joan ; ' for in 
Polperro 'tis sperrits dooty free, and men. 
free o' dooty.' 

* I think the men certainly make free 
enough/ said Eve. 

' Why, how V returned Joan. ' You 
haven't hardly seen any of 'em yet, 
'ceptin'/ she added, after a pause, ' 'tis 
Adam. Was it he you was meanin', Eve V 

Eve blushed. 

' Oh, I don't know that I meant him in 
particular, though I do think he makes 
much more free than he need to.' 

' In what way ? Do 'ee mean by 
offerin' to kiss 'ee V 

' Well, yes.' 

* But you let un when you two was out 
together last night ?' said Joan, half ques- 

A£>AM AND EVE. 285 

* No, indeed I didn't/ replied Eve, de- 

' What, didn't he try to ?' continued 

' Whatever he may have tried he didn't 
get,' said Eve, the colour heightening on 
her face. 

' Well, I never did !' exclaimed Joan. ' I 
wouldn't ha' believed any maid alive could 
ha' baffled Adam !' 

' Why not '?' and Eve assumed an expres- 
sion of great surprise. ^ Can't you refuse 
him what you don't want to give him ?' 

* Oh !' said Joan, with lauo:hinof bitter- 
ness, ' I'm his cousin, my dear. He don't 
ask no thin' o' me — what he wants he 

* I'm his cousin too,' said Eve, setting 
her mouth firmly, ' but he'll never do that 
with me.' 


' Awli, don't you make too sure o' that/ 
said Joan. ' Others ha' thought the same 
afore noAV, but Adam's proved one too many 
for 'em.' 

'- You speak as if everybody must give 
way to Adam,' exclaimed Eve. ^ Why, 
Joan, quite as good men as Adam have 
been forced into faUing in love, and with 
no hope of having it returned neither.' 

' Iss, but had they got his ways f said 
Joan, doubtfully. ^ If so, I've never met 
none of 'em.' 

^ Nonsense,' said Eve, contemptuously. 
^ Why, you told me yourself that most of 
the girls cared for Jerrem more than they 
did for Adam, and by your manner I 
thought so did you.' 

' Well, I b'lieve I do sometimes, only 
that — but there !' she cried, breaking off 
impatiently, * tis o' no use talkin' nor 


tryin' to show the wliy nor wherefores, but 
unless I'm very much mistook, 'fore you're 
many months older you'll find it out for 

Eve ofave a confident shake of her head. 
' If your head don't ache, Joan, till you see 
me running to Mr. Adam's beck and call, 
you'll be pretty free from pain, I can tell 
you. I'm not at all one to be taken by a 
man's courting ; and if I had been, you and 
me would never have met, for up to the 
last minute of my coming away somebody 
was begging and praying, and all but going 
on their knees to me to keep me in London.' 

' And you wouldn't stay V said Joan, 
immediately interested in the confidence. 

Eve shook her head. 

' Didn't 'ee care for un then ? Was that 
the reason of it ?' 

' Oh, I cared for him, and I care for him 


now ; and don't think, for goodness and 
kindness to me, I shall ever meet his fellow 
anywhere. But somehow I couldn't love 
him, and the more he strove, the more shut 
against him I seemed to get.' 

' H'm !' said Joan, with surprised per- 
plexity ; ' still I don't see, 'cos you couldn't 
like he, that that's to hinder 'ee from caring 
for Adam. Wan thing is certain, though,' 
she added, 'there's no fear if you shuts your- 
self against he, of his striving over much. 
The boot's on the other leg with Adam.' 

Eve laughed. ' There's no need of our 
wasting words on talking about what's 
so little like to happen ; and if we're going 
out, I think 'tis time to go. So I'll run up 
■and put on my things ; shall I V 

' Yes, do,' said Joan ; adding, as 
Eve was turning from the table : ^ Was 
the wan who wanted 'ee to stop in 


London, he vou was tellincr me about be- 
fore — Reuben May — eh, Eve ?' 

^ Oh, you mustn't ask no more questions/ 
said Eve ; * I'm not going to give any 

' Come, you might so well,' said Joan, 
coaxingly. ' I shouldn't tell nobody, and 
I always have a sort o' feelin' for they that 
places their love at the wrong door.' 

' To be left till called for,' laughed Eve, 

* Oh, I can see that you're a hard- 
hearted one,' said Joan, as she pushed 
back her chair and rose from her seat. ^ I 
only wish,' she sighed, ' that I could be the 
same. I b'lieve things w^ould ha' gone ever 
so much smoother than they have.' 

'Well, I haven't asked any questions,' 
said Eve, ' and I don't mean to, either. I 
shall wait till Jerrem comes home, and I 

VOL. I. 19 


see you and him and Adam together ; then, 
I suppose, it Avon't take long to tell who is 
Mr. Eight; 

* T don't know that/ laughed Joan. ' Wan 
thing is certain, 'twill ^vXi^ soon be 
known who is Mr. Wrong — there'll be no 
mistakin' that. But that minds me 'bout 
the letter ; don't let's forget to take un 
with us, and on our way I'll give it to 
Watty Cox, to take with'n to Looe to- 
morrow. We didn't put the seal to it, did 

' No. I'd just gone up for it ;' and Eve 
felt in her pocket, and then began looking 
among the things on the table. 

' What be looking for ?' asked Joan ; 
' there's the wax and the candle.' 

' I'm looking for the seal,' said Eve. ' I 
know I brought it down with me.' 

' Isn't it in your pocket % You didn't 

AjDAM and eve. 291 

sliow it to me. I never saw you with 

' I'd just got it ill my hand when you 
called upstairs,' said Eve ; '■ and I remem- 
ber I didn't wait even to put back the till 
of the box. I jumped up off my knees and 
ran down, and I'd got it in my hand 

'Well, p'rhaps you took it up agen. 
Piun up and see.' 

Eve ran up, but in a few minutes she 
returned with the little box in her hand. 

^ I've turned everything upside down, 
and taken the things out one by one/ she 
said, beginning to repeat the fruitless 
operation, ' but there's no sign of the seal. 
Besides, I feel certain, now, that I laid it 
down 'pon the table.' 

* Lord !' exclaimed Joan, giving vent to 
a fear that had crossed both their minds, 



' that impident rascal of a sodger has never 
taken it, to be sure ? But don't 'ee know, I 
told 'ee I saw un danglin' a somethin' in 
his hand.' 

' Oh, Joan r 

' My dear, depend on it that's where 'tis 
gone — so you may make your mind easy, 
then. For goodness gracious' sake, don't 'ee 
tell Adam ; he'd vow we'd bin up to some 
games with un, and the very sight of a 
sodscer's coat drives un as mad as a bull.' 

'Oh, bother, Adam !' said Eve, in a vexed 
tone ; ' 'tis losing the seal I care for. I 
wouldn't have parted with it for anything.' 

' Why, was it a keepsake from your poor 
mother T 

' No, not from her, but from a friend. I 
valued it very much.' 

' Did he give it to 'ee. Eve V 

' I don't know who you mean by he,' said 


Eve, refusing to accept Joan's evident 
meaninof • ' but there's no secret as to the 
giver. 'Twas given me by the only friend' 
— and she laid unnecessary stress on the 
word — ^ I had in London.' 

* Eeuben May/ put in Joan, filling up 
the slight pause which Eve had made. 

* Yes, Keuben May. 'Twas he gave it 
to me.' 

' Was it his first gift X asked Joan. 

' His first and his last,' said Eve, smiling. 
'You forget that people there haven't got 
money to be so free with as they have here, 
Joan. Reuben was like mother and me, 
had to work for every penny he spent.' 

' What's his trade, then 1' 

* A watch and clock maker,' said Eve, 
with becoming pride ; ^ and very clever he 
is at it too. Mother always said if E-euben 
couldn't make anything go, 'twas no use 


anybody else trying. But there, he's the 
same with everything,' added Eve, distance 
holding a magnifying-glass over Keuben's 
oft-despised superiority. * His reading's 
like listening to a sermon, and his writing's 
beautiful and like print, 'tis so easy to read ; 
and as for kno wince about thino^s, I don't 
believe you could ask him a single question 
but he'd find an answer for it.' 

^ And yet with all that you couldn't 
bring your mind to care for un. No, now ' — 
and Joan held up her hands to drive away 
all denial — ^ 'tis o' no manner o' use your 
sayin ^^No," for I'm as certain that 'tis 
Heuben May you was speakin' of as if you 
was both standin' before me too^ether.' 

^ Oh, well, if that's the case, there's no 
more good in me speaking,' said Eve. 

' Not a bit,' answered Joan. ' If you was 
to talk till to-morrow, I should only think 


the same. Now, ain't I right V she said, 
throwinof back her head and lookincr at Eve 
with smiHng entreaty. 

' I'm not going to say '' Yes." ' 

' Well, but you won't say ''No," ' persisted 

Eve turned away. 

' Ah !' cried Joan, clapping her hands, ' I 
knew I was right, from the moment you 
spoke his name. I felt a sort o' drawin' to- 
wards un, so p'r'aps, after all, things '11 come 
rio'ht between 'ee.' 

' They're quite as right as I want them 
to be,' said Eve, decisively. 

'Oh, of course. When the love's all 
t'other side, 'tis wonderful how con- 
tented folks can be. As for he, poor sawl, 
I dare say his heart's too heavy for his 
body. Well, if it'll do un any good, he's 
got my pity — and seemingly my luck too,' 


she added, with a sigh. ' But here, come 
'long — let's finish the letter, and as we 
haven't got a seal, we'll make shift with a 
thimble. There !' and she surveyed the 
blot of red wax with eminent satisfac- 
tion — ' that'll make it safe. Stop, though, 
I must drop a kiss,' and down fell the wax 
again. ' That's from me. Now, to make 
it fitty both sides alike, there's one from 

' Oh, you silly thing !' exclaimed Eve. 
' You forget I don't know him, and he dosn't 
know me.' 

'Well, s'pose he don't, what o' that? 
'Twill taste the sweeter. 'Sides, I shall tell 
'un that anyways he's got the start o' 
Adam there, and had the first kiss after 

' I declare I won't wait another 
moment,' exclaimed Eve, with feigned 


impatience. ^ If you don't come at once, 
Joan, I'll go without you. The after- 
noon will be gone before we've left the 


^OAN led the way towards Talland 
Lane, but before turning out of 
the green they were stopped by 
a voice calling : 

' Joan, Joan Hocken, my dear, do 'ee 
want any think to Plymouth or there- 
abouts V 

^ Who is it ?' said Joan, turning to catch 
sight of a comely, middle-aged woman who 
had just stepped out from one of the neigh- 
bouring houses. ^ Oh, you, Jochabed V 


* Iss, my dear ; I was just comin' your 
ways, 'cos, if all goes well, us starts by 
three to-morrow mornin', for we's got a 
tidy load this time/ 

' Who be 'ee goiii' to, then X asked 

Jochabed cast a look of inquiry towards 
Eve, which Joan answered by saying : 

* All right, 'tis Uncle Zebedee's brother 
Andrew's daughter.' 

' Is it, sure ? Ah I heerd herd acome. 
And how do 'ee find yerself, my dear X she 
said, turning to Eve. 

* Very well, thank you.' 

* Her likes the place, then V 

'Yes,' answered Joan, 'though what 
with wan thing: and t'other, us has bin all 
in a uproar since her's been here.' 

* Ah, sure !' said the woman ; ' what a 
how-de-do they gentry kicked up this 


mornin' ! I see 'em into your house makin' 
more free than welcome.' 

' Iss, that they did, and no mistake/ 
laughed Joan. 

* And what for ever they comes I can't 
think/ continued Jochabed, 'for thev 
allays goes back the same, neither wiser 
nor heavier. I wish to goodness they 
dratted excise men would learn a lesson 
from the same book.' 

' Nonsense ! you ain't 'feared o' any o' 
they,' said Joan ; ' why, you and Aunt 
Catarin 'ud take the shine out o' a dozen 
men o' they sorts.' 

'No, no, now, I dawn't say that/ laughed 
Jochabed, who had a particularly musical 
voice ; ' and I'm sure, whatever folks says, 
they as knaws me best can testify that 
'tain't in me to lay a finger's weight on 
man, woman, nor cheeld, 'less I'm fo'ced to 


it. And I was never more for pace and 
quietness than that very mornin' when us 
met a party, who shall be nameless, on 
Battern Cleaves ; and more than that, up 
to the last I holds in his hand a little 
passel that I keeps by me done up for any- 
thing suddent-like. But no, he woudn't 
let his fingers close 'pon it. Now, I says, 
don't 'ee go stanJin' like the mayor o' 
Market Jew, in your own light ; but words 
were lost 'pon un. Have it he Avould, and 
have it he did ; and they .mys he never 
stirred in his bed for days, which I can 
well credit, for my poor arms ached sore if 
his body didn't.' 

'There's a Trojan for 'ee, Eve!' ex- 
claimed Joan, tapping Jochabed on the 
arm ; ' that's somethin' like bein' able to 
take yer own part, isn't it, for a woman to 
give a man — an excise man, mind 'ee — 


such a drubbin' that he's 'shamed to re- 
port he met her, and for fear it should get 
■wmd never mformed against her, though 
he saw the sperrit — didn't he, Jochabed ?' 

' Lor' bless 'ee, iss, my dear ; what was to 
hinder un ? when the skins was busted so 
that they dripped 'till the liquor ran like 
waster ? then that soaked through to the 
tay, and that gived way. You niver in all 
yer days saw such a set out as 'twas, a.nd I 
was a regular object, too, but nothin' to he, 
poor sawl ! Waal, I did feel for un, that's 
the truth ; a man looks so foolish to be 
mawled by a woman, and his face a 
sclumbed all ovei* — but whatever could 1 
do % As I said to un, my childern's 
mouths must be filled so well as yourn ; but 
'tis no use to stop and bandy words with a 
man who thinks he's no need to take ^*No" 
for an answer. But there, I'm keepin' 


you, my dears, and myself too,' she added 

' No, you ain't,' said Joan ; ' we'm only 
ofoin' so far as Ann Lisbetli's, and then 
down to Talland Bay, and back home by 
cliff for Eve to look at the say. Her's 
mazed 'bout the say,' she added, in an 
amused tone. 

' Well I never ! Whether she be or no,' 
and Jochabed regarded Eve with increased 
interest ' 'tis a bootiful sight, surely ; 
and though I was born and reared by it as 
you may say, I was never tired o' lookin 
at it, 'ceptin' 'twas when my baw, as was 
a man-o'-war's-man, was outward-bound ; 
then I used to wish there'd never bin no 
say made.' 

' Then your husband is a sailor ?' said 
Eve, by way of making a remark. 

* Wa-al no, not exactly, my dear ; he's a 


sawyer — or, to speak more proper, he was. 
But he ain't nothin' now, dear sawl ; he's in 
hebben, I hopes — a good dale better off 
than any o' we. Iss, for the dropsy took 
un off like the snuff of a candle, and he 
was gone in three weeks ; that's twenty 
years agone. When I married un, you 
might ha' took a lease o' his life — not that 
I minded that then, for I didn't valley un 
not the snap o' my finger. My heart was 
set 'pon the man I told 'ee of 

' And how was it you didn't marry him, 
then ?' asked Eve. 

^ Why, so I meant to ; but as he was 
comin' from Fowey — for my folks lived to 
Lansallos then — out jumps a gang o' press- 
men and carr's un off then and there. And 
if 't hadn't bin for Joshuay Balls, us 
shouldn't niver ha' knawed for years what 
had comed of un ; but it happened Joshuay 


was crooked down behind a hedge, and 
saw all of it from beginnin' to endin. 
Awh, when they told me, I was like any- 
body mazed, I was, and no wonder neither, 
for there was my furniture got, and my 
clothes ready, down to the very ring — iss, 
same wan I's got 'pon my finger now, and 
no man. Howsomedever, I hadn't got 
long to wait for he, for the very next 
Monday, as that was on the Friday, up 
comes Sylvester Giles — he'd bin casting 
sheep's-eyes that way afore — and talks me 
over; so that 'fore the week was out I 
gived in, and let un stand in t'other man's 
shoes. Ah, take my word for 't,' she 
added, with an assured nod of her head, 
* that, so far as wedlock goes, what is to 
be will be ; for marriages is made in hebben, 
and can't be marred on earth ; and the 
ricrht Jack 'ull have his Jill, thouofh 't 'as 
VOL. I. 20 


gone so far, as another man buyin' for his- 
self the ring t'other tu^o's to be wedded 

' Lors, I wonder whether any man's 
abought the ring that 'ull marry me, then X 
laughed Joan. 

' There's a plenty 'ud be proud, and 
happy too, if so be you have 'em to buy 
'ee wan, for each o' your ten fingers,' said 
Jochabed, admiringly, ' and no blame to 
'em, neither ; for, says Solomon the Wise, 
" A good wife's a good prize ;" and, if 
they comes to me for a character, I'll tell 
'em they'll search the place round for fifty 
miles and more, but they wun't find two 
Joan Hockens. And the longer you knaws 
her, my dear,' she said, turning to Eve, 
^ the stronger you'll love her.' 

' I feel sure of that,' replied Eve, taking 
the hand which Jochabed held out, for 


they had by this time reached a gateway 
into which she was about to turn. 

* You ha' n't o-ot a bit the look o' the 


maidens hereabouts,' continued Jochabed ; 
' and yet her face don't seem strange. 
Hers hke somebody I's a knawed. Who 
is it, Joan V 

' I can't tell,' said Joan, ' less 'tis Adam 
you 'm thinkin' of.' 

* You've a said it — that's who 'tis,' said 
Jochabed, decisively. ^ Wa-al, my dear, 
'tain't speakin' ill o' nobody's face to feature 
'em with Adam, is it ? Only I says to you 
as I says to he, booty's only skin deep, and 
han'som' is as hansom' does.' 

Durino' these last words Jochabed had 
opened the gate and gone through ; she 
now only waited to say, ' Then you can't 
mind nothin' you want this time 1' and to 
hear Joan's answ^er before she turned down 



a narrow path leading to a field, at the 
farther end of which was an opening by 
which she could reach her cottage. 

' How far is Plymouth ?' asked Eve, as 
the two girls stood watching Jochabed's 
retreating figure. 

' Twenty miles or so.' 

* And will she walk all that way 1' asked 

' Yes. Oh ! 'tain't nothin much of a 
walk that,' said Joan ; ' only she'll carry 
four skins o' sperrit and a good doUup o' 

' Skins of spirit % Why not put it in a 
bottle ?' 

' 'Cos she carries it all about her,' replied 
Joan. 'You couldn't sling a parcel o' 
bottles about 'ee.' 

' Oh ! then doesn't she have a basket f 

' Why no, unless 'tis to put some 


trumpery in she makes out to be sellin' o' ; 
'cos she don't want nobody to know what 
she's earryin', and they that buys from her 
buys on the sly. 'Tis all under the same 
flag, my dear, free trade and no dooty ; 
but come on, we're close to Ann Lisbeth's 
now, though 'tis ten to one if we finds her 
at home, we've took such a time in 

True enough, when they reached the 
cottage they found Mrs. Johns (Ann 
Lisbeth's mother, an invalid, and through 
rheumatism constantly confined indoors) 
alone. Ann Lisbeth had left an hour 
before, to do some errands. She had gone 
down the steps by Mrs. Martin's house, 
through to the Warren, and by this 
means the friends had missed each 

' How's she comin' back V asked Joan. 


Mrs. Johns did not well know ; Ann 
Lisbeth had told her not to wait tea, as 
most like she should stop and take hers at 
her cousin's, Polly Taprail's.' 

* Oh ! all right then,' said Joan ; ' we're 
goin' there, so we shall all meet ;' and after 
a little more gossip about the adventures 
of the morning, and how fortunate it was 
that they had not cleaned up the place, so 
that the littering mess the soldiers made, 
tramping over everything, was not of 
any consequence, the two girls took their 
departure, and continued their walk up the 
steep lane, stopping every now and again 
to pick a few of the blackberries which 
hung in tempting profusion. Above these 
stood bushes covered with scarlet hips, in 
and out of which twined the honeysuckle 
with just here and there a late blossom 
standing sickly-looking and alone ; these 


and the long trails of briony, gay with 
ruddy berries, proved sore teinptations to 
Eve, who lagged behind, gathering here and 
there, wdiile Joan carried on her steady 
plunder of the blackberries. 

' There,' she cried at length, ^ if I go on 
like this I shan't be able to eat a bit o' tay ; 
so come on, Eve — do. I say,' she added, 
picking her way across a tiny stream which 
spread over the path from a fern-sheltered 
basin mto which a spring came dripping 
down, ' take care, or our shoes and stock- 
ings won't be fit to be looked at.' 

'That's a pity for those that wear 
buckles,' laughed Eve. 

' Uncle gave 'em to me,' said Joan, 
putting her feet together and surveying 
them with visible satisfaction ; * they're 
rale silver ; they was poor aunt's. He's 
got another pair put by for Adam's wife, 


he says, * 'Tis much better he gave 'em to 
you, so I'll tell un.' 

' No, no, I don't want them,' said Eve. 
* I like to see other people in such things, 
but I don't care for them at all for myself ; 
besides,' she added, with a touch of resent- 
ment ranklinof towards Adam, ' I should 
be very sorry to deprive Adam's wife of 

' Nonsense,' laughed Joan. ' Take all 
you can get ; that's my maxim. And as for 
hoardin' up and layin' by for Adam's wife, 
who we never saw, and perhaps may never 
come, is what I call folly, and so I tell 
uncle. Nobody 'ull thank un for it, and 
least of all Adam.' 

' No, I shouldn't think he was over- 
burdened with gratitude,' said Eve, sarcas- 

* I don't know that,' said Joan ; ' but 


'tis this with Adam ever since he was born, 
he's had all he wanted a'most fore he'd 
asked for it. Nobody's ever gainsayed 
un in a sino^le thinof. Aunt and uncle 
and my mother, and lots more, think his 
ditto was never made, 'til I b'lieve he's 
got it in his head that the world only 
goes round to please he and his fancies.' 

' And yet people don't seem so very fond 
of him,' said Eve. 

' No, they ain't ; they're afeard of un, 
and that's the truth ; and in wan way I 
don't wonder at it neither, for he ain't con- 
tent that you should know that he's better 
than yourself, but he must make 'ee feel it 

* Indeed ! I can't see that he's any 
better than other people,' exclaimed 

' Oh, but he is, though,' said Joan. 


' He knows more — is a better scholar, 
perhaps,' continued Eve ; ' but — • — ' 

' That ain't all,' interrupted Joan. ' 'Tis 
in other things 'sides scholarin'. He don't 
give way to drinkin ; ain't mixed up with 
no cockfightin', nor fightin' o' no sort ; 
nothin' o' that's any pleasure to he. 
Then in the sharin', whether their faces 
or their backs is to un, 'tis all one to 
Adam ; there's yourn, and that's hisn, and 
no more nor less is made of it.' 

^ But that's only honest, Joan.' 

' Iss, I know that ; still he needn't make 
^em feel like a pack o' chates, 'cos one or 
two's a happened now and then not to 
know t'other from which. He's terrible 
hard that way ; once slip, and down you 
stay with Adam.' 

' Well, I don't like people who deceive 
and shuffle, myself,' said Eve. 


' Ah/ said Joan, ' some's as God made 
'em, and t'others as the devil finds 'em ; 
but Adam acts as one who made hisself 
perfect, and can keep hisself the same.' 

* Of course that's going too far,' said 
Eve. ' Still, I think we've got a great 
deal in our own hands, you know, Joan, 
and I have not much patience with people 
who go wrong, for it always seems to me 
they might have helped it if they'd tried 
to. Mother and me used often to argue 
about that ; for no matter how bad any 
one was, poor dear, she'd always find some- 
thing to excuse them by. 

* But I thought your mother was so reli- 
gious,' said Joan, with some surprise. 

^ So she was : but there's nothino- a^fainst 
religion in that, Joan, is there V 

* Iss, my dear ; 'tis a good deal against 
the religion I sees carried on here. If you 

3 1 6 ADAM AND E VE. 

was to ask my mother and they, her'd tell 
'ee that o' Sundays, when the chapel-doors 
was shut, 'tis Glory Hallelujah to they in- 
side, and fire and brimstone to whoever's 
out; though, somehow, I can't never bring 
my mind to b'lieve that's what the Bible 
means it to be.' 

' Why, of course not,' said Eye ; ^ you've 
only to read for yourself to know that. 
You've got a Bible, Joan, haven't you ?' 

^ There's wan at home,' said Joan, eva- 

' Is there ? Where ? I don't think I've 
seen it.' 

^ No, you haven't ; 'tis kept locked up in 
the ches n' drawers, 'long o' some o' poor 
aunt's thin2:s. She bouo^ht un afore Adam 
was born, so uncle don't like un read in, 
'cos 'twould get thumbed so ; the bindin's 
beautiful, and 'tis as good as new. I 


don't s'pose it's been opened half-a-dozen 

Eve ^vas silent for a few minutes ; and 
just as she was about to renew the con- 
versation thev came to a o^ate, which Joan 
opened and passed through, saying the 
path was now so narrow that they would 
have to walk in single file. This extremely 
narrow lane opened into a good-sized 
turnip-field, where Eve's attention was 
caught by a sight of the old manor-house, 
with its arched doorways and granite- 
mullioned windows. 

'That's Killigarth,' said Joan. 'Ain't 
it a ancient old place ! How would 'ee like 
to live there. Eve, eh V 

* I'd rather live down by the sea,' said 

* Would 'ee, sure 'nuf ? Awh, but that's 
a splendid place inside/ continued Joan. 


' There's one room big enough to turn a 
coach-and-four inside, with Adam and 
Eve, and all of 'em, plastered up on the 
ceiling ; and outside there's a hedge so 
high, and so broad, that you can walk four 
abreast a-top of it, out so far as a summer- 
house overlookin' the sea. There ain't 
much of the summer-house left now, but 
the hedo^e is there all rig^ht.' 

Such an unusual curiosity naturally occa- 
sioned some surprise ; and Joan was still 
endeavouring to give satisfactor}^ answers 
to Eve's numerous questions concerning it, 
when they began to descend the steep hill 
leading down to Talland Bay. 

^ Ah !' exclaimed Eve, giving vent to a 
deep-drawn sigh of satisfaction as the 
sweep of Talland Bay and beach came into 
sioiit. ' This is the sort of view I like, 
Joan; I could stand looking at this for ever.' 


' Well, better ask Arbell Thomas to let 
'ee live with she. That's her house, down 
there ; do 'ee see, close in by the lime- 
kilns ?' 

^ And is that the church you go to X 

' Very seldom ; whenever any of us 
goes to church, 'tis to Lansallos ; leastwise, 
that's where we'm bound to go, 'cos we'm 
in Lansallos parish.' 

Eve gave a despairing shrug. 

* I shall never understand it,' she said ; 
' the place is all Polperro, isn't it ?' 

* Of course it is !' 

' Well, but yet you keep on calling it 
Talland and Lansallos.' 

* And for this reason,' said Joan, stoop- 
ing to rake together four or five loose 
stones. ^ Now, look here, suppose we say 
these stones is Polperro, now, and she made 
a division with a clear space between the 


two heaps ; ' this we'll call the brook — that 
divides two parishes. All this side is Tal- 
land, and they must go to Talland church 
to be married and buried ; all that side is 
Lansallos, and must be married and buried 
in Lansallos church. Now do 'ee under- 
stand r 

Eve went over the explanation to her- 
self ; then she said : 

'Yes, I think I do understand now.' 

' All right, then. Before we go on I want 
to ask Arbell if she's got any ducks fit 
for killin', 'cos if so, us'll have a couple.' 

' You don't want me for that, do you ?' 
said Eve ; ' so, while you go in there, let me 
wait here — shall I ?' 

' Very well,' said Joan. ' Then don't 
come through the gate, 'cos we haven't got 
time to go no farther, and I won't be a 
minute or two 'fore I'm back agen.' 


So saying, she j)ushed open the gate, let it 
swing behind her, and disappeared towards 
the cottao^e, leavino- Eve to become more 
famihar with tlie scene around her. A 
patchwork of fields spread out and ran 
down to the cliffs, which sloped towards a 
point where they overhung the sea, and 
shadowed the little pebbly beach below. 
Not a tree was in sight, so that Eve's 
eyes wandered across the unbroken line of 
undulating land until they rested on the 
hillock-raised tower of the old grey church, 
beneath whose shelter lay the dead, whose 
plaintive dirge the sea seemed softly sing- 
ing; and straightway a mist gathered be- 
fore Eve, and the eyes of her heart looked 
upon a lonel}^ grave in a far-off city church- 
yard. \vas it possible that little more 
than a week had passed since she stood 
bidding farewell to that loved spot ? If 
VOL. I. 21 


SO, time had no span, but must be 
measured by the events it chronicled. 
Only a week ! yet her life seemed already 
bound ujD in fresh interests, her feelings 
and sympathies entangled in a host of new 
doubts and perplexities. Affections hitherto 
dormant had been aroused, emotions she 
had not dl*eamed of quickened. It was as 
if she had dropped into a place kept vacant 
for her, the surroundings of which were 
fast closing in, shutting out all beyond and 
obscuring all that had gone before ; and at 
this thought the memory of her mother 
was hugged closer to her heart, while the 
sight link which bound her to Reuben May 
seemed turned into a fetter. 

* He ought never to have taken such a 
promise from me,' she said, with all the 
ungenerousness of one-sided love. 

Then, after a few moments' pause, moved 


by some impulse, she ran across the green 
slope which hedged the cliff, and bent over; 
but the place where on the previous night 
she had stood with Adam was hidden 
from view, and turning, she walked slowly 
back, wonderino; what could have made 
her Avish to look at that particular spot. 

Certainly not any feeling of love 
she had towards Adam, for the thought 
that Adam was the one who would not 
trust her stung her with a sharpness 
which made the desire for revenge come 
keen, and the thought of it seem sweet. 
And out of her vivid imagination she 
swiftly conjured up an image of Adam, 
humbled and enslaved ; and as she stood 
still, enjoying her pictured triumph, the 
click of the gate recalled her wandering 
senses, and turning round she was met by 
Joan, who said : 



^ Let's get back as quick as can, for 
Arbell says one o' the boats is in ; and one 
o' the CKrao's told her that word had come 
o' somebody havin' seed Jerrem/ 

^ Oh ! then what a pity we sent the 
letter !' 

'Yes; 1 forgot all about that/ said 
Joan. 'But never mind, Watty can't 
have took it yet. So on our way home 
we'll call and tell un we wants the letter 
back agen ; we needn't say for wdiy, only 
that we've a changed our minds, and there's 
no call to send un now.' 



S. <k H.